


end copy,’ 

1898 . 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap..^.. Copyright No. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








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PAVING THE WAY 





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Darkie saw his pursuers grow less and less. 



Frontispiece 



PAVING THE WAY 


A ROMANCE OF THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH 


SIMPSON NEWLAND 


KX-TREASURER OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA 


With Twenty-five Illustrations by HERBERT COLE, 
the Famous English Artist 



DREXEL BIDDLE, Publisher 

Drexel Building 


MDCCCXCIX 







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^yxAj ^ 


PREFACE 




At this time, when the scientists of Europe are keenly- 
interested in the discoveries of M. Louis de Rougemont, who 
has just returned to civilization after living more than a score 
of years among the native tribes of the Australian bush, the 
publisher takes especial pleasure in placing before the literary 
and scientific world the work of Mr. Simpson Newland, which 
graphically treats of many of the wild scenes and savage 
peoples described by M. de Rougemont in the account that 
he gives of his adventures. 

Mr. Newland, an Englishman, and until recently Treasurer of 
South Australia, has been a resident in the land of his adoption 
for many years, during which time he has employed his leisure 
in making a series of explorations into unknown territories, 
and in gathering material for a comprehensive work which it 
was his ambition to publish when completed. Such has been 
his life’s hobby, — the pursuit of knowledge concerning lands 
and peoples hitherto unknown and as yet unrecorded in 
geographies and histories. Being a man of wealth and posi- 
tion, a close and intelligent observer, and a ready writer, Mr. 
Newland was able to pursue his favourite studies with eminent 
success. 

A prominent Australian critic declares that it is safe to pre- 
dict for ^‘Paving the Way” a distinct place in colonial litera- 
ture, Mr. Newland having produced a book which does for 
South Australia very much what ‘‘Lorna Doone” has achieved 
for Devonshire. And that his work has been a labor of love 


PREFACE 


as truly as was Mr. Blackmore’s famous novel will be readily 
seen even by the casual reader. 

The better to hold the reader’s attention throughout, the 
author has skilfully woven his facts into a romance of absorb- 
ing interest. Both at sea and on shore one thrilling adventure 
follows another, until the reader is made to realize that the 
great antipodean continent, about which most of us know so 
little, is not only a real but also a very romantic region. As 
a story of stirring episodes and as a true picture of a hitherto 
scantily recorded era in the history of Australia, Mr. New- 
land’s volume would seem well to deserve a perusal. 

In speaking to his publisher recently of the book of his life, 
Mr. Newland said : — 

‘‘As, in a work on Australian pioneer life such as this pur- 
ports to be, it might be difficult to present bare facts in an 
acceptable form to the general public, the author’s object has 
been to blend truth and fiction in a connected narrative. 
That it partakes largely of a romance is certain, but the inci- 
dents, though so romantic, are mainly authentic; for these 
lives have been lived and these deaths have been died. It is 
not alone on the familiar ground of the Old World that heroic 
deeds have been performed or suffering nobly endured. 

“ To particularise too closely would not add interest to the 
story for the public, though it might in the opinion of those 
acquainted with many of the occurrences alluded to or more 
or less related. The author has endeavoured to wound as few 
susceptibilities and tread on as few toes as possible ; the time 
has not yet arrived in the life of Australia when the historian 
or novelist can write with an untrammelled pen.’* 


A. J. Drexel Biddle. 


CONTENTS 


PAJ^T I 

ON THE COAST 

CHAP. PAG3 

I, The Shipwreck i 

II. Ill Got — 111 Gone 7 

III. The Massacre 13 

IV. A Race for Life 20 

V. The Whaling Station 26 

VI. The Headman’s Daughter 30 

VII. Pet to the Rescue 37 

VIII. A Whale Hunt 41 

IX. Overlanding 47 

X. A Brush with the Blacks 53 

XI. Native Obsequies 62 

XII. Aunt Arabella arrives 71 

XIII. British Justice 76 

XIV. A Homeric Combat 84 

XV. Pet’s Troubles begin 90 

XVI. The Star 98 

XVII. The Noble Savage obtains some Mutton loi 

XVIII. A Long Ride 107 

XIX. Civilizing the Blacks .114 

XX. Roland misses his Chance ,...122 

XXI. Gathering Clouds 126 

XXII. Darkie’s Flight 132 

XXIII. A Deed of Derring-Do 139 

XXIV. In Hiding 143 

XXV. The Pursuers baffled 148 

XXVI. Kangaroo Island 154 

XXVII. Facilis Descensus Averni 159 

XXVIII. Aunt Arabella plays her Trump Card . . ' 162 

XXIX. Love and Pride ... 168 

XXX. The Reverened Jeremiah utters a Word in Season 172 

XXXI. Blighted Love 177 

XXXII. Roland loves and rides away 183 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

XXXIII. A Bush Mystery i88 

XXXIV. A Fruitless Search 193 

XXXV. Dark Suspicions 198 

XXXVI. Venus Victrix 204 

XXXVII. Baulked 209 

XXXVIII. At6 at work again 214 

XXXIX. Roland surprises his Aunt 219 

XL. Fresh Fields and Pastures New 225 

XLI. The Headman sails into the Unknown Sea 230 

PAJ^T II 

IN THE INTERIOR 

I. On the Darling 237 

II. On the Queensland Border 242 

III. The New Cook 246 

IV. A Murderous Outrage 251 

V. Roland’s Responsibilities increase 256 

VI. A Drought and its Consequences 263 

VII. Bushrangers at Work 270 

VIII. 'Bail up ! ’ 277 

IX. Miola and her Master 283 

X. The Last of the Parkingees 288 

XI. The Doom of the Mullas 294 

XII. Eros the All-subduer 300 

XIII. On Board the ‘ Plover ’ 305 

XIV. An Accident and its Results 311 

XV. Roland loses a Friend 317 

XVI. The Death of Captain Thimderbolt 323 

XVII. The Break-up of the Gang 329 

XVIII. Ghosts 335 

XIX. Darkie tells his Story 343 

XX. The Prize is won at last 349 

XXI, The Mysterious Locket 333 

XXII. The Jew’s Hoard 339 

XXIII. After long Years 364 

XXIV. The Bush reveals its Secret 366 

XXV. Nemesis 370 

XXVI. The Death of the Star 374 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FROM ETCHINGS BY HERBERT COLE 


Darkie saw his pursuers grow less and less 

The two gazed at each other 

A Corroboree 

The Whaling Station under the Bluff 

Petrel and her father at the flagstaff on the Bluff .... 

Native Obsequies 

Not for the world! she declared. I wonder, nephew, 

how you can propose such a thing 

There stalked the big Solomon 

Petrel watching the whale hunt 

You’ll never repent buying him, sir; and if ever your 
life depends on him, he’ll carry you through, if 

horseflesh can 

Without the smallest repugnance or concern he began 
piling up dried wood, dead black men, and defunct 

sheep in a heap together 

With a heavy heart she met her lover that night at the 

trysting-place 

He gazed at the letter till his eyes grew dim 

Death of the Headman 

The two bushrangers gambling for the ‘ Star ’ 

Grantly drank and revived with surprising rapidity . . . 

The last chief of the Parkingees 

Grantly tells his story to Miss Ingleton 

Suddenly Jollyboy startled them by appearing in their 

midst 

Roland struck out with his clenched left hand, at the 

bushranger’s scowling face 

You damnable scoundrel, make one movement and you 

are a dead man 

Is that the locket ? asked Roland 

A tall form, wrapped in a long cloak, stood by the window 

of a cottage at Encounter Bay 

I ran on and on, calling and screaming until I burst a 

blood-vessel 

Death of the Star 


. . Frontispiece 
To face page 1 1 ► 

“ 19 

« 28 

“ 35^ 

“ 69 ^ 

“ 75 - 

« 88 ^ 

« 96 


100 


“ 131 

“ 181 

“ 205 . 

« 232 

“ 282 

“ 288 

“ 292 

“ 3161^ 

“ 325 ^ 

“ 331 

“ 353 

“ 359 

« 364*' 

“ 368^ 

“ 375 



PAVING THE WAY 



PAR T I 

ON THE COAST 


CHAPTER I 

THE SHIPWRECK 

On one of the latter days of November 183 — , as night fell, a brig 
might have been seen approaching the western point of Kangaroo 
Island, which is now named Cape Borda, and upon which stands 
one of the South Australian Government lighthouses. The 
southern coast of the island is bold, rock-bound, and inaccessible, 
and long, heavy ocean-rollers break unceasingly upon it. Lying 
across the mouth of St. Vincent Gulf, like a recumbent lion 
guarding the path to its lair, the island itself seems the grim 
guardian of the calmer waters within. The day had been hot and 
sultry, and the evening set in dark and threatening ; black storm- 
clouds rose piled one upon another to the north-west, and among 
them the forked lightning already began to play in quick flashes. 
The wind had sunk to an occasional pujff, which scarcely ruffled 
the surface of the sullen sea ; and the sails of the vessel flapped 
loudly as she swung from side to side when the long rollers passed 
under her. 

According to present ideas of naval architecture she was a 
clumsily built craft, broad in the beam and bluff in the bows, 
evidently as slow as she was strong. Immediately below her bow- 
sprit was the roughly carved figure of a woman, to the full as 
buxom as the ship herself. On one side of this figure was the 
name Mary, on the other ‘London.’ Had any one stepped on 
deck, too, he would soon have gathered further particulars respect- 
ing her voyage and passengers. The cry of ‘ Land, ho ! ’ had 
brought her captain quickly up from below, followed by all hands. 
He was a man about six feet high, with a strong, resolute face, 
lighted up by fearless grey eyes. Earnestly he scanned through 

A 


2 


PAVING THE WAY 


his glass the iron-bound coast, and then, as he noticed the gathering 
storm-clouds, an anxious look passed over his face. 

‘ Take in sail and make all snug aloft,’ said he to the mate, who 
stood near, ‘ there ’s heavy weather to the nor’- west, and we must 
keep off the land. I can see it ’s not quite a feather bed for any- 
one to tumble into.’ 

A handsome, bright-faced boy about sixteen years of age, with 
light brown hair and dark blue eyes, overheard the words. 

‘ Is that Port Jackson Heads, captain, that you have so often 
told me to look out for?’ he asked, with a gay laugh that showed 
he was a privileged person. 

‘ No, my boy, I wish it were,’ replied the captain ; ‘ we ’ve got a 
bit further to go before we get there ; but a storm is coming up 
that will push us along at our best pace. Now, tell your mother to 
go below, for she is not strong enough to stand a wetting, and it 
will rain in torrents presently.’ 

The boy had early in the voyage gained the master’s favour by 
his frank, fearless manner, and each day had drawn them closer 
together. His father, an English gentleman named Roger 
Grantley, had come to the owners of the Mary with the highest 
recommendations, and taken the best quarters in the ship for him- 
self and family, consisting of his wife, his son, and a servant maid, 
a pleasant, ruddy-faced girl of nineteen, Peggy Puce by name. 
Roger Grantley was a scion of an old Cumbrian family, once 
wealthy and powerful. The head of the house, at the time of the 
Derwentwater rebellion, had joined the ill-fated peer who led it, 
and taken a prominent part in the struggle. After fighting bravely 
for ‘the king over the water,’ he lost his head on the scaffold, and 
his estates were confiscated. 

Such is a brief summary of the decline of the race. At first the 
ruin seemed irretrievable, but later, by the interest of influential 
connections by marriage and other friends who had supported the 
winning side, the baronetcy and the greater part of the estates had 
been restored to the descendants of the beheaded rebel. The 
property, however, required nursing, if the Grantleys of Grantley 
Hall were ever to hold their heads high again, and each succeeding 
head of the house had devoted his energies to the restoration of 
its former glories. Roger’s elder brother. Sir Archibald, was no 
exception to this rule. He considered it much more important to 
build up the wealth and position of the family than to supply the 
requirements of members of it who were not necessary to its dig- 
nity or continued existence. For a time Roger had taken matters 
philosophically, and apparently meant to allow the owner of the 
estate the privilege of supporting him. He soon, however, dis- 
covered his mistake, as the baronet peremptorily declined this 
honour. This occurred at about the time he arrived at what are 
called ‘ years of discretion ’ — though it may be doubted if Roger 
ever reached that stage — and realised that he was the youngest of 
three sons. It then began to dawn upon him that ‘something 


THE SHIPWRECK 


3 


must be done.’ So he married a reputed heiress, of a family nearly 
as proud as his own, though somewhat looked down upon by the 
leading magnates of that exclusive county, and by so doing 
annoyed Sir Archibald, who disliked the lady, and despised the 
pretensions of her people. For a while, however, all went fairly 
well. She bore him one son — the boy who was on board the brig 
— and two daughters. Meanwhile the baronet married, with the 
highly practical purpose of providing himself with an heir. In due 
time he begat a son, who was followed a few years later by a little 
girl. The second brother, not to be outdone, also took to himself 
a wife, who died in giving birth to twins, both boys. The succes- 
sive advent of these heirs-male appeared effectually to extinguish 
all hope of Roger’s son inheriting the great Grantley estates. 
Then another disaster followed. The income settled upon his 
wife on the security of her father’s estate could no longer be paid 
in consequence of a claim to the property having been set up. 
The Roger Grantleys now found themselves reduced to the most 
meagre income. Finding that nothing was to be expected from 
the generosity of relatives, and rendered more proudly sensitive 
than ever by these reverses, they determined to seek better fortune 
in a distant land, and ultimately decided to go to New South 
Wales and take up grants of land, then offered by the Government 
to new settlers. The daughters were left in charge of a spinster 
aunt on the father’s side to finish their education. Collecting the 
few thousand pounds still left, Mr. Grantley took passage in the 
Mary. A bitterly disappointed, broken man, accustomed to all 
the luxuries and refinements of life, he deeply felt the discomforts 
of the small vessel, and what he was pleased to call ‘his exile.’ 
Hypochondriacal by nature, the monotony of the voyage told so 
severely upon him, that from the first day he languished, and at 
the end of three months his body was committed to the deep. 

Mentally, Mrs. Grantley much resembled her husband. Never 
very strong in health, the privations inseparable from the pro- 
tracted voyages of the sailing ships of that period impaired her 
spirit and strength. Like him, pride of family was her most 
striking characteristic, and when he died she felt isolated and 
alone, among people she considered vastly her inferiors. She, 
however, had made a sort of friend and confidant of the captain, 
even in this excusing herself under the unspoken plea that it was 
for the sake of her son. Poor woman, the traditions of the past 
had taught her to believe that she was almost of superior clay to 
the ordinary mortals around her, an idea which her training and 
education had served only to foster. 

Peggy Puce did all she could for her mistress, but they had 
now been five months on the sea, and the luxuries and comforts 
brought with them had long been exhausted. No wonder the 
unhappy lady pined away day by day. The only other woman on 
board was a Mrs. Cantling, the wife of a young fellow going out 
to join some friends in or near Sydney, who were doing well, and 


4 


PAVING THE WAY 


anxious to gather some kinsfolk around them to share their good 
fortune and possibly relieve their solitude. The rest of the pas- 
sengers were mostly men in the prime of life, strong stalwart 
countrymen, who looked fit to cope with the difficulties and dangers 
incidental to a new colony. There was one of quite another type, 
a short, spare man, whose features proclaimed his Jewish origin. 
With restless movements and furtive glances, he glided along the 
deck addressing no one. His fellow-passengers had early come 
to the conclusion that his occupation had been that of a money- 
lender not satisfied with less than cent, per cent. As a matter of 
fact, he had also been a receiver of stolen goods, or in thieves’ par- 
lance ‘ a fence,’ in a low part of London. Finding things becoming 
too hot to be pleasant or safe, he decided to transfer himself and 
the proceeds of a not unsuccessful career to Port Jackson, where 
he confidently anticipated meeting many old acquaintances and 
being able to open up a lucrative business. 

Including crew and passengers, the Mary carried some fifty 
souls, many of them weary of the long voyage and eager to see 
the land of their adoption. Old at starting, her timbers were con- 
siderably strained by the rough weather they had met with on the 
voyage, and this caused the master to view with some trepidation 
the tempestuous weather now threatening. Brave and skilful 
sailor as he was, his experience told him that their position was 
fraught with peril. A dangerous coast to leeward with no safe 
harbour for many miles, an unseaworthy ship carrying fifty human 
beings dependent upon him for safety, and a furious hurricane 
about to burst upon them ; such was the situation he had to face. 

The boy had gone below with his mother, and most of the other 
passengers had followed his example, leaving the sailors to combat 
the advancing storm as best they could. In a few minutes more 
it came : a blinding flash of lightning, accompanied rather than 
followed by an awful crash of thunder, and a tempest of wind 
and rain. Thrown over on her side, it seemed as if the vessel 
would never right again ; then, slowly, denuded of all her upper 
gear, with masts broken off a few feet from the deck and all the 
boats gone, she recovered and drove on, a helpless wreck. With 
the instinct of a true sailor, the captain had held on to the wheel, 
and now, with the assistance of a stalwart seaman, endeavoured 
to keep her before the wind. The mate and half the men had gone 
overboard at the first shock ; the others crept back from the shat- 
tered bulwarks, bruised and half-drowned, and clung to the stumps 
of the masts for support against the seas that swept the deck. 
The blackness of darkness enveloped them in a mantle no sight 
could penetrate ; but, though helpless and continually drenched by 
the waves breaking over the ship, the brave men stuck to their 
posts, ever hoping that an abatement of the storm would allow 
them to gain some control over the wreck. When morning broke, 
its greatest violence seemed over, and the master ventured below. 
He then found his worst fears verified ; the strained timbers had 


THE SHIPWRECK 


S 


parted, and there were already several feet of water in the hold. 
From the nature of the cargo he did not anticipate the bri^ would 
sink, yet it was evident that the passengers would be driven on 
deck. Shelterless, with the tempest still raging, what a prospect 
for the women and the boy ! Warning them all that in the course 
of a few hours, at most, they must leave their present retreat, he 
urged them to eat a good meal of whatever was to be had, and 
provide themselves with all the warm clothing available. 

Though the land could not be seen, the ship was drifting parallel 
with the coast and gradually settling down in the water, the seas 
still frequently sweeping over her. Before midday, the whole of 
the survivors were collected round the stumps of the shattered 
masts, to which the weaker were lashed securely to prevent their 
being washed away. Constantly soaked, as they were, by the 
blinding spray on the nearly unprotected deck of the now utterly 
helpless wreck, the situation appeared as hopeless as it well 
could be. 

Night again set in upon the miserable people, collected in a 
shivering group on the highest part of the deck, driving they 
knew not whither. Suddenly, for a moment only, just before 
nightfall, the thick storm-clouds parted, revealing, to the west, a 
noble headland with a flag floating from its summit ; then the rift 
closed and it was lost. It caught the watchful eye of the captain, 
and a gleam of hope lighted up his face. 

‘ Land, and inhabited !’ he exclaimed, and each wretch there 
felt less desolate when he heard that other human beings were 
near. Then the blackness of night and the tempest enveloped 
them, as they drifted, all unwittingly, past the last chance of 
succour. 

‘ Friends,’ said the master, ‘ let all who may reach land remem- 
ber that at this hour we passed a high bluff to the westward, and 
on it a flag was plainly flying. Probably there is a settlement 
near, and by following the coast-line it may be reached.’ 

The mother heard the words and repeated them to her boy; 
presently, beckoning to the master to bend over her, she whispered 
with a final effort, ‘ Save my child,’ and so, with a last prayer for 
his safety, her spirit took its flight. 

All unconscious, the boy slept with her dead arms clasped round 
him, her words still ringing in his ears. 

When daylight appeared, it showed those who still survived a 
long line of sandhills, fringing a broad, unbroken strip of surf, 
towards which they were directly heading. They could distinctly 
hear the thunder of the waves as they beat upon the shore. Each 
eye was strained to find some opening in that dread line of tossing 
foam, but in vain ; far as sight could reach, the same inhospitable, 
repellent foreshore extended. The storm had by this time abated, 
and, though the sea was still high, yet the sight of land had revived 
the courage of the castaways and awakened hopes which were all 
but dead in the hearts of the boldest. It was now that Captain 


6 


PAVING THE WAY 


Eli Larch proved himself a true commander. Cool and collected, 
with encouraging words he urged all to cling to any support avail- 
able, until the wreck was driven as near the land as the waves 
could carry her. His practised eye had shown him that she must, 
in those tremendous rollers, strike the bottom many times before 
becoming fixed, and he hoped that all who retained their hold 
might then be washed ashore, or, as the tide fell, swim or wade to 
land. 

The boy had roused himself, and with a dazed look gazed into 
his mother’s dead face as Larch unwound the cold, stiff arms from 
round him. 

‘ Courage, Roland,’ he whispered ; ‘ she is in heaven and suffers 
no more.’ 

With a calmness that seemed almost apathy, and that is but 
rarely seen in the young under such circumstances, the lad kissed 
the set lips a last farewell, and then fixed his eyes on the shore. 
It was time ; a huge wave caught the hull upon its crest and swept 
it swiftly along, far into the line of breakers ; then, in its reflux, 
dropped it, with a terrific bump that rent the timbers asunder, 
upon the sand. For a moment the wreck remained stationary, 
then another billow broke over her with a deluge of water that 
carried half the devoted people away. Another rapidly followed, 
and tossed her, with a fearful shock, a hundred yards nearer the 
land. There she stuck, sea after sea breaking over her, each 
sweeping more of the despairing wretches from their hold. For- 
tunately, this did not last long ; the sea had been going down, and 
those on board could occasionally see the bottom when the waves 
receded. They were further encouraged by seeing that some of 
those washed away were carried far up the sloping beach by the 
big billows, and then were able to crawl out of their reach. As 
these gained strength, they assisted their less fortunate fellows 
who were being sucked back again by the retreating waves. By 
such means, six or seven were collected in safety on the shore, 
while fifteen still remained alive on the wreck, but of these, four 
were in a dying condition from the exposure and hardships they 
had undergone. As the tide continued to fall, the violence of the 
surf subsided, and the captain fastened a line to a buoy in hopes 
that it would float ashore. For a time it tantalised them, passing 
to and fro, now as far out to sea as the rope would allow, and then 
approaching the edge of the breakers. Eventually it was caught 
in the break of a gigantic wave and hurled high up on the beach, 
where it was secured by a sailor waiting for the opportunity. This 
accomplished, Captain Larch entertained no doubt that all on 
board could be saved, and insisted that none but the strongest 
should attempt the task of passing along the line until the tide was 
much lower, and the danger consequently less. The impatience 
to leave the brig was so great, however, that nearly all were 
anxious to try. A big sailor, whose strength seemed little 
impaired, went first ; and, though those on shore strained on the 


THE SHIPWRECK 


7 


rope, it sagged so much that he was submerged in the rough 
water nearly all the way. His endurance stood him in good stead, 
and, though greatly exhausted, he reached the land. Another 
immediately followed, and hand-over-hand had rapidly covered 
half the distance, when a fierce wave caught him in the curl of its 
break and tore him off. Then it appeared to the awe-struck 
spectators to play with him, tossing him in savage wantonness 
round and over, finally carrying his body out to sea. After this 
terrible sight, the commander had no difficulty in restraining the 
remainder until somewhat later when the tide had fallen sufficiently 
to admit of the passage being made with safety. The sun had 
been shining for several hours, and under his genial warmth all 
had recovered much of their strength and courage. After the 
male passengers were conveyed on shore, the strong assisting the 
weak, efforts were made to save food, clothing, and other neces- 
saries. As the water continued to go down, this was comparatively 
easily accomplished by running them along the line. By this 
time it was considered safe to land the women. The body of Mrs. 
Grantley had been swept away when the vessel first struck, and 
was seen no more. The other two women had crouched together 
in terror since the ship became a wreck. Sheltered as much as 
possible and assisted by the men, they would inevitably have been 
washed overboard if they had not been securely lashed to the 
stump of a mast. They were now carefully conveyed through the 
still seething surf to the land. Last of all, the captain left the 
wreck with the boy clinging to him. Seth Jacobs, the Jew, had 
lingered till nearly all had gone, evidently anxious to reach his 
cabin ; but the vessel was completely waterlogged, and all his efforts 
were in vain. 

‘You must leave everything below,’ said the master, observing 
his attempts, ‘ for the present, and think only of your life. If the 
weather continues fine we may, at the lowest tide, find the battered 
hull not only high and dry but drained of water, and be able to 
save many things.’ 

Worn, dispirited, and exhausted, the cupidity of the usurer 
gave way, to the instinct of self-preservation, and he made for 
the shore. 


CHAPTER II 

ILL GOT — ILL GONE 

Immediately on landing. Captain Larch selected a sheltered 
place amid the sandhills as a camp. Here a fire was lighted at 
which the wet and wearied survivors could dry and warm them- 
selves. Scarcely any food had yet been brought from the wreck, 


8 


PAVING THE WAY 


but fortunately those who first reached the land had found, when 
pulling on the rope, that their feet turned up numerous cockles 
from just under the surface of the wet sand. To half-starved men 
these were very palatable, and sufficient were easily obtained to 
satisfy the hunger of all. Fresh water was also discovered in a 
shallow well, evidently made by the natives, a short distance 
beyond high-water mark. Thankful for their rescue, and with 
their hunger and thirst appeased, the exhausted castaways soon 
forgot all their troubles in sleep. 

When morning came, the tide was very high and the brig had 
sunk deeper in the sand, and, being surrounded by a boiling waste 
of water, it was impossible to obtain any food from her. Under 
these circumstances, the survivors of the wreck were compelled to 
breakfast on the shell-fish left from the previous evening— the 
present state of the water preventing them from procuring more. 

The captain then proceeded to examine the country. On 
mounting a sandhill he found that the line of surf, with its fringe 
of hummocks, extended as far as could be distinguished to the 
south-west, with a scarcely perceptible curve to seaward. To the 
east the coast presented much the same characteristics, but in 
the distance the land appeared to be higher and bolder. He was 
surprised to find that inland, only a few hundred yards away, lay 
a narrow lake of water evidently of great length, which apparently 
ran parallel with the coast far to the westward. In the opposite 
direction it ended in a swamp, or salt marsh. He was soon stand- 
ing on its margin, and found the water both salt and shallow. 
Retracing his steps, he saw fresh water oozing from among some 
rushes, with a path leading to it. At first it appeared as if it was 
made by wild animals, but on looking closer he saw the marks of 
human feet. He knew they could not be the footprints of his own 
people, for among them were those of little children. In that 
desolate place whose could they be but the tracks of savages, 
probably hostile ? and if so, the situation in which he and his com- 
panions were appeared a desperate one. Clearly, at the fall of 
the tide, not only must provisions and clothing be obtained from 
the vessel, but weapons also. Disturbed by these thoughts, and 
with a tremor at his heart such as he had not felt even during the 
height of the storm, he returned to the camp. On the way he 
observed further traces of the recent presence of the savages, in 
heaps of cockle-shells by the ashes of a still smouldering fire. From 
these signs it was obvious that the aboriginals must be still in the 
neighbourhood. Common prudence, therefore, suggested that he 
should keep his people as closely hidden as possible, until they 
were able to procure arms from the ship. Luckily they had, to 
get out of the wind, camped in a deep hollow surrounded by 
bushes. But the fire — would the natives see that? If so, it would 
probably not excite remark, as they had left their own burning in 
their abandoned camp. The wreck, however, would certainly be 
discovered whenever they came over from the lake-side, and this 


ILL GOT— ILL GONE 


9 

they were likely to do as soon as the weather settled down after 
the storm. 

Pondering over these things, he reached the hollow, and in a 
few words calmly told the castaways what he had seen and the 
conclusions at which he had arrived. To the eastward there 
could not be any habitation of civilised man within many hundred 
miles ; but to the west there was probably a whaling station, where 
they had seen the flagstaff on the cliff. In that direction, as soon 
as they had brought on shore all that would be of use to them, he 
proposed to proceed, keeping along the coast. He conjectured 
that it could not be more than a hundred miles, and it might be 
considerably less. Travelling would be easy and comparatively 
rapid by keeping on the hard level beach when the tide was fairly 
low. Meanwhile, it was imperative that all should remain perfectly 
quiet where they were, so as to give the least opportunity of being 
observed. Except to obtain a supply of water there was no 
necessity to leave their shelter, and for many hours all rested, and 
were much refreshed thereby. 

As the day advanced, the tide ebbed so far that, to their great 
delight, the hull was almost high and dry. There was now no 
difficulty in getting on board, and, after a sailor had been posted 
on a high sandhill to give notice if the natives approached, the 
remainder of the party proceeded to the wreck, the sailors first 
going on board to send on shore whatever was most required. 
They were soon enabled to land a few casks of flour and salt 
meat, tins of biscuits, and other kinds of food, in fair condition. 
Articles of clothing, tools, and sails for tents rapidly followed. 
Fire-arms were also procured, in a wet and rusty condition indeed, 
but capable of soon being rendered fit for use. To their great 
disappointment, however, no powder was found. This much 
increased Captain Larch’s anxiety, as he well knew how difficult 
it would be to protect his party from the savages without effective 
fire-arms. All weapons likely to be of use were, however, taken 
to the camp. 

The Jew early penetrated to his cabin and laboriously carried 
on shore a small trunk. 

‘ Clothes and a few necessaries,’ he muttered to a sailor who 
wondered at its weight, ‘ which have got very wet. Poor wretch 
that I am, it is all I have in the world ! ’ 

For a few moments he sat on it to rest, and then, without 
attracting attention from his busily engaged companions, took it 
up and disappeared behind the sandhills. 

The goods which had been removed by them from the wreck 
having been brought ashore, the party next devoted their energies 
to having them carried to a place of safety, leaving to a future 
opportunity the search for other articles. The blankets and 
clothing too were spread out to dry on the hot sand and bushes, 
and soon were in a condition to render the position of all more 
comfortable during the coming night. It was nearly dark when, 


10 


PAVING THE WAY 


tired out with their exertions, they assembled again in the hollow 
and made arrangements for the only really good meal they had 
had for several days. 

In the midst of all his many duties, Captain Larch had taken 
care to accompany Roland to his mother’s cabin and bring away, 
among other things, a strong-box which bore the lad’s initials. 
Knowing her firm conviction that in her failing health she would 
never live to reach land, he felt assured it contained valuables 
placed there by her loving care. This case he carried to the 
camp himself and determined to open on the first opportunity, 
not only for the purpose of drying its contents, but because, in 
their critical circumstances, little except food could be taken with 
them, and therefore the heavy case itself must be left behind. It 
was extremely fortunate that in consequence of the cold wind 
they had fixed the camp in such a secluded situation, as it enabled 
them to light fires and dry their saturated possessions, as well 
as do the necessary cooking, without much fear of attracting 
attention. 

As soon as supper was finished, the captain explained that he 
wished everything opened that evening and dried, with a view to 
an early start for the supposed settlement. This he proposed 
making the following day, as soon as the state of the tide 
admitted of travelling along the beach ; and he urged the absolute 
necessity of only attempting to carry such articles as were indis- 
pensable. In pursuance of these instructions, each was assigned 
some duty, and the absence of Jacobs was now discovered. The 
big sailor was the last who had seen him as he carried his trunk 
towards the camp. This lay open near the spot upon which he 
had slept the previous night. The articles of clothing and other 
things it had contained still showed the distinct impression of a 
square box, which could not be found. It appeared, therefore, as 
if he had taken this to some retired spot with a view to examin- 
ing the contents in private. That these conclusions were only 
partially correct we will now show by following his movements, 
as they have an important bearing upon this veracious story. 

Having opened his trunk, Jacobs seized a strong-box within, 
evidently of considerable weight, and, looking round to see that 
he was not observed, made off through the sandhills in a line with 
the sea to the east. Except to pause a little to take breath, he 
did not linger until he had travelled nearly a mile. 

He then stood immediately under a tall tree of the eucalyptus 
tribe, standing much higher than its fellows, on a small open flat 
commanding a view, between two sandhills, of a strip of sea. 
The tree was large and healthy with the exception of one limb 
about twelve feet from the ground, which some gale had broken 
off a few feet from the trunk. The stump thus left pointed 
directly to the strip of sea through the sand hummocks. Nothing 
remained of the fallen branch, a bush-fire having years before 
swept over the spot and consumed it. After carefully noting 


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ILL GOT— ILL GONE 


II 


these particulars, the Jew set down the box and with his knife cut 
a long stick, trimmed off the twigs, and then measuring it with 
his hand he muttered : 

‘ One foot — two— three — four — five — six feet.’ 

He then put the stick up to the base of the broken limb. 

‘One,’ he said; another length touched the ground. ‘Twelve 
feet,’ he added. 

He then stood directly under the dead arm with his back to the 
stem of the tree, immediately facing the spot of water. Then 
observing a twig precisely in line, ‘ That will do,’ he murmured, and 
proceeded to measure the distance with the prepared wand. 

‘ One — two — three,’ he went on up to five — ‘ thirty feet.’ 

Then he hesitated. 

‘It will be safer,’ he thought, and carefully measured exactly 
ten feet at right angles from where he stood to the west. 

With the point 'of the stick he traced a square about the size of 
the box, and, using his sinewy hands, rapidly scooped out the soft 
earth. It was soon done and the case brought to the spot. 
Lingeringly, even lovingly, he put it in the hole, and then 
hesitated once more. 

‘ Only another look,’ he whined, and raising it from the cavity 
he opened the lid. ‘ How they sparkle ! ’ he whispered ; ‘ and yet 
I almost like better the dull yellow of the gold. Oh ! it’s hard to 
leave them in this horrid hole ; yet what can I do .? I ’ve got as 
many about me as I can conceal. To carry them all myself is im- 
possible, and trust them to others I dare not. They think more 
of their paltry lives, and would fling them away when tired or at 
the first alarm. Even if I offered great rewards, they would guess 
my secret and eventually rob me of all. No, though it is like leav- 
ing my heart’s blood, I have thought it over and it must be done.’ 

Gazing at his treasure fondly, he murmured as if to things of 
life, ‘ I will come back for you, my dears, some day,’ and, gently 
closing the lid and replacing the box, he covered it up with the 
loose soil. Then, with lingering steps and bent head, he turned 
away in the direction, as he thought, of his companions, but really 
straight inland. After walking half a mile or so, he sat down on 
a log, and, taking a small piece of parchment out of his pocket, he 
began to write, not observing a pair of fierce bright eyes glaring 
at him from behind a bush. The writing finished, he took a shining 
brass box or locket from the breast-pocket of his coat. It was 
remarkable in shape, being fantastically formed to resemble a 
turtle clinging to a chain— the very thing to excite the cupidity of 
an ignorant savage. 

Pressing a spring, it opened, and the Jew carefully placed the 
parchment within. Rising to his feet, he was about to put the 
chain attached round his neck, when the watching savage, 
bounding to his side, struck him a heavy blow on the head with 
the club he held in one hand, as he seized the locket with the 
other. As he prepared to repeat the stroke, another form almost 


12 


PAVING THE WAY 


equally wild interposed his weapon. The two gazed at each other 
for a moment, and then the first, snatching the coveted locket from 
the hand of the Jew, darted away. 

The other, scarcely noticing his departure, stooped over the 
man he had rescued and fixed his eyes on the unconscious face ; 
then he sprang to his feet with an oath, exclaiming : ‘ The London 
Jew, by God ! How comes he here ?’ 

The words had hardly left his lips when two more black men 
appeared, evidently his companions. In their own language he 
told them what had occurred, describing the savage who had fled 
as a tall, powerful man, with a broad scar across his brow and 
right cheek. 

‘Talco !’ ejaculated one, with considerable apprehension in his 
tone, and, beckoning to the white man to follow, they moved 
away. At first he hesitated, but, humanity or curiosity prevailing, 
he picked up the insensible form of Jacobs and hurried after them. 

Presently they stopped, and in low earnest tones urged him to 
leave the dying man, saying that he could not live, their camp was 
far off, and they were in an enemy’s country. While thus disputing, 
they arrived at a running stream, and, as they crossed, the English- 
man — for such he obviously was — bathed the face of the Jew with 
the cool water. This somewhat revived him, and, after greedily 
drinking, he staggered to his feet, and groping with his hands 
about his neck, as if feeling for something, in a dazed way he 
began muttering the jingle : 

' Under the tree. 

Facing the sea, 

One, two, three.' 

Seeing that he could now walk with assistance, the white man 
placed himself on one side and a black fellow took the other, 
while his companion led the way. Thus supporting the wounded 
man, in an hour’s time they approached a small fire, around which 
sat some half-dozen savages. Without a word, they flung their 
burden down in the light of the flame ; as they did so, he fainted, 
but no one appeared to notice or care about that. 

The eldest man, after looking at the inanimate form, demanded, 
in quick peremptory tones, an account of what had occurred. At 
the name of ‘Talco,’ he picked up his waddy and was about to 
knock the Jew’s brains out, when the white man interposed. An 
altercation then ensued, the old warrior urging ‘ that they might 
be pursued, and must retreat to their own country at daylight. 
They were a hunting party, and having been successful had heavy 
loads to carry, without encumbering themselves with a dying man.’ 

To which the other replied that ‘they could kill him in the 
morning, if he did not die in the meantime. Perhaps he might 
be able to gather from his talk how he came there, and where his 
friends were.’ 

This appeared to satisfy the leader, and the Englishman 


ILL GOT— ILL GONE 


13 


devoted himself to recalling Jacobs to consciousness. He was 
partially successful, and the Jew began muttering the old refrain, 

‘ Under the tree, 

Facing the sea, 

One, two, three,' 

many times over ; then with an effort he continued : 

‘ Four, five, six, twice six are twelve, five sixes are thirty. How 
they sparkle ! yet I love the yellowboys the best.’ 

Again he sank into silence, except for his heavy breathing. 

The watcher attentively listened and watched as he bent over 
him. Once he tried to shape the thoughts of the dying man into 
expression by questioning him, but with an almost imperceptible 
start the Jew relapsed into silence. The pause continued so long 
that the listener feared he would speak no more ; then he began 
again, though his voice was weaker : 

What — could — I — do — but — hide — them — in — the ground ? 
I — shall — know — the — place — again — though that — black — devil 
— took — my — box — with — the — directions — in — it ! ’ 

The sentence died away in an almost inaudible whisper, but the 
face of the man who bent over him showed that he understood its 
meaning. 

At the first streak of dawn the band rose and prepared to move 
on. The breathing of the dying Jew had become stertorous, 
but he occasionally muttered the same monotonous jingle, as if 
his thoughts were in some confused way still dwelling on his 
treasure. With a stern expression on his bronzed face, in which, 
however, there was a gleam of satisfaction, perhaps of triumph, 
the white man left his side. He heard the thud of the old 
warrior’s weapon on the defenceless head, but he did not inter- 
fere this time. 

‘ Better so,’ he said, ‘ than leave him for the flies and ants to 
torture like a dying sheep.’ 


CHAPTER III 

THE MASSACRE 

We must, however, now return to the camp of the shipwrecked 
people. For them the night passed without any event calling for 
narration, and the whole party rose much refreshed and eager to 
begin their journey. Before this could be done, however, many 
preparations were necessary. Moreover, the Jew was still absent, 
and the commander felt that some search, in common humanity, 
ought to be made for him. Accordingly, after breakfast, a close 


PAVING THE WAY 


14 

examination of the country round the encampment was under- 
taken, but without result. Fearing the worst, Captain Larch 
sent two sailors to a very high hummock along the coast to the 
east, trusting that some trace of the missing man might be found. 
From its summit a considerable range of country could be ob- 
served, as well as a long reach of sea-beach ; they were also 
instructed to watch for any signs of savages. 

Captain Larch now took aside and examined the contents of 
the trunk he had brought from Mrs. Grantley’s cabin. In a tin 
case, carefully sealed, there was a long letter addressed to Roland, 
with a small packet of papers marked ‘important,’ and a few 
sovereigns. The packet consisted of a bank draft for ;!^3ooo 
payable in Sydney in favour of Roger Grantley, and his will, 
which, from the date, had evidently been made just before sailing 
from England. Putting these papers together, the captain folded 
them carefully in a thin piece of waterproof, and finally stitched 
them up in the breast pocket of the lad’s jacket. 

‘ My boy,’ said he, ‘ something tells me that I shall not escape 
from the perils that encompass us. I cannot leave these poor people, 
whatever happens ; and indeed, if the savages attack us, as they 
probably will, and I attempted to fly, they would almost certainly 
overtake me. You can run like a deer, for I watched you on the 
beach yesterday. Almost with her last breath your mother made 
me promise to do my best to save your life. What I am doing 
now I believe to be the best that can be done, on the honour of a 
sailor. You remember the high bluff, with the flagstaff on the 
top, that we passed in the storm ? We can in the early morning 
see a long way to the westward, in which direction it lies, and I 
have watched for it, but it is too far off to be sighted. The beach 
runs comparatively straight for a great part of the distance, per- 
haps nearly all the way. If you are parted from me, keep close 
to the water, so that the waves may obliterate your footprints, 
and travel by night, as then the blacks are least likely to see you. 
The cockles in the sand will keep you going if other food fails, 
but you must carry some with you when we move from here, so 
as to be prepared for the worst. There is certainly some kind of 
settlement on the sheltered side of the headland. Keep that in 
mind, and on the second day I hope you may sight the bluff. 
God grant that we may not have to part ; but remember, when I 
give the word, stop for nothing — run for your life, and may God 
bless and protect you ! ’ 

The brave man, nearly choking with his emotion, took the 
sobbing boy in his arms and kissed his forehead. Presently he 
suppressed this unwonted weakness, and they returned to the 
camp. Roland was there provided with a small canteen to hold 
water, which he slung over his shoulder, while he filled his pockets 
with ship’s biscuits. 

The men who had been sent to look for the Jew now appeared, 
and reported that they had discovered no trace of him. From the 


THE MASSACRE 


15 


knoll there was a very extensive view, unbroken in any direction. 
They had seen smoke rising in several places along the coast to 
the east, and more inland, but none in the vicinity of the encamp- 
ment. The lake running parallel with the sea, already mentioned, 
they described as stretching far as the eye could reach to the west- 
ward. Last and most important, around the east end of it a large 
party of blacks appeared to be approaching. This intelligence 
greatly startled the whole party, each individual desiring to flee 
at once. The captain quieted their fears, and told them they must 
keep under cover, as the natives were so near, until darkness set 
in, when they would start. Meantime the fires were covered with 
sand and extinguished, and every one hastily adjusted his load in 
readiness for the signal to march. Scarcely was this done, how- 
ever, when from every side through the dense bushes black forms 
burst upon them. Astonished and bewildered, the whites shrank 
together, but there was no demonstration of hostilities on the part 
of the intruders. Though armed with spears and clubs, or waddies 
as they call them, they made no attempt to use them ; on the 
contrary, they appeared to be in excellent humour, laughing and 
pointing in a wondering kind of glee at the women and the many 
articles of bright clothing in the camp. Seeing them so peace- 
fully inclined. Captain Larch advanced unarmed and tendered 
a gaily striped rug to an elderly man who seemed to be a chief. 
The savage was intensely delighted with the gift, and placing it 
round his shoulders he stalked among his admiring companions. 
The natural result followed ; each and all required some gift, and 
the resources of the camp were severely taxed before they could be 
appeased. The captain then endeavoured to explain their posi- 
tion, indicating that they had come from the sea by pointing to the 
wreck. The savages apparently understood, and by their signs 
and gestures it appeared evident that they had heard, if not seen, 
white men on the coast to the west ; but when the captain 
attempted to move off in that direction with his party, they 
interposed, and, by shutting their eyes and lying down, showed 
him that he had better not start until the morning. As they 
seemed so’ friendly, and resistance against such numbers was 
hopeless, the captain, after consulting his companions, decided to 
remain. The natives showed much pleasure at this, and at first 
wanted to take them to their own camp ; but, when objections 
were made, they at once acquiesced by dropping the articles they 
had picked up to carry. 

As soon as they saw the fires being lighted and other prepara- 
tions for spending the night in progress, they nearly all dis- 
appeared, and in the course of an hour could be seen making 
their camp a short distance away. Their close proximity was a 
source of alarm to the more timid of the castaways ; but thus far 
there seemed no cause to apprehend treachery. The night passed 
without further incident. The following morning a few articles 
were distributed among the women, and, to prevent the tempta- 


i6 


PAVING THE WAY 


tion to thieve, Captain Larch ordered the rest to be packed up in 
readiness for departure. No opposition was offered, and when 
the Europeans were prepared to march a number of the blacks 
accompanied them, indicating that the path by the lake, which 
they called the Coorong, was the best way. Most of the day the 
journey was continued in a most amicable manner, but towards 
evening some of the white men straggled behind among the lubras, 
or native women, against the express commands of the captain. 
Several times he halted for the purpose of warning them ; but the 
discipline of the ship had become relaxed, and his expostulations 
produced little effect. 

That night he became seriously alarmed, as a number of the 
sailors did not rejoin their party at all, and the demeanour of the 
blacks had also changed. That the overtures of his men to the 
black women were bitterly resented by the natives became very 
evident to the commander, and that night a watch was set to pre- 
vent any one else leaving the camp. The morning came without 
further trouble having occurred, but two of the missing men had 
not returned. Though the delay was exceedingly annoying and 
even dangerous, it was impossible to abandon them without making 
some effort to discover their fate. Three men were therefore de- 
spatched under orders to retrace the trail and endeavour to find 
them. Meanwhile, the party would remain in their present camp. 
Very few blacks were now visible, and in the course of the day 
they entirely disappeared. This Captain Larch felt to be a relief, 
though conscious that it could not be considered a sign of friend- 
liness. The day at length drew to a close without the arrival of 
the two missing men or those sent in search of them. 

Burning with impatience and anxiety, the rest of the party 
waited on, now scarcely knowing what to conjecture. At length 
the captain, fearing the worst, determined to move on when night 
fell, leaving a note in a conspicuous place stating the direction 
taken. At length darkness set in, and instructions were given to 
make instant preparations to depart. Each individual was in the 
act of picking up his load, when suddenly an appalling black 
circle closed in on them, every savage form hideously painted 
and, except for a tuft of fur suspended from his waist, stark 
naked. Circles of white were round their eyes, alternate bands 
of white and red crossed their chests and wound round their arms 
and legs. Their thick, matted hair was fantastically adorned with 
feathers, while others had swan’s-down grotesquely sprinkled over 
their ornaments or adhering to their anointed bodies. 

Spears, waddies, and other weapons were flourished with 
threatening gestures in the air around the cowering little band, 
who shrank together at the sudden appearance of a foe whom 
the uncertain light of the flickering camp-fires rendered almost 
diabolical in their hideousness. 

The first shock over, the stout-hearted captain recovered his 
coolness. 


THE MASSACRE 


17 


‘To your arms, men,’ he cried, ‘and defend yourselves if 
attacked ; but do not strike a blow if it can be helped. We 
must try to parley.’ 

He did try, feeling that the cutlasses of his party could avail 
but little against the spears of the black men. Ay ! as little as 
did later the same spears against the white man’s powder and 
ball. But his pacific overtures were either unnoticed or wilfully 
misunderstood by the ruthless band bent on slaughter, and in- 
stinctively conscious that some of a race superior to their own 
were at their mercy. To do anything but return their defiance 
was, according to their ideas of warfare, a sign of weakness or 
fear, and they pressed on only the more eagerly. A tall and 
brawny savage, with a broad scar down the right side of his fierce 
face, which increased its natural hideousness, and a shining brass 
locket gleaming on his broad black breast, led them on. As he 
drew near, the captain dauntlessly stepped out, weapon held low 
but ready, with Roland close to him. On came the savage, how- 
ever, and snatched at the boy. This was too much for the 
endurance of the sailor, and with a swinging blow from his left 
hand he dropped the black chief on the sand. The warrior 
was up in an instant, however, and aimed a heavy blow at his 
antagonist with the club he held in his right hand, which brought 
him to his knees. As he sank the captain cried : ‘ Run, Roland, 
run, and keep to the beach !’ and the lad darted past the savage 
and was gone. 

Nearly blinded by the stroke, the brave master recovered his 
feet, but spears and waddies were rained upon him, and again he 
sank, this time a dead man. The fight, if fight it could be called 
where resistance was in vain from the first, was soon over. Warned 
by the accident that had befallen their chief, the savages leapt 
out of arm’s length of the sailors, and contented themselves with 
showering spears and waddies upon the devoted band from the 
shelter of the surrounding bush. The sailors, having no effective 
fire-arms, were powerless to resist, and soon all were killed or 
wounded. The last to fall was the big sailor. Jack Adams, who 
was transfixed by a long, barbed spear while standing over the 
two prostrate and defenceless women. The impetuous thrower 
sprang upon his prey to finish his work, but the giant caught 
him by the hair and thrust his weapon again and again into his 
breast before he died. This was the only savage killed, though 
several were severely wounded in a rush the sailors had made, 
after the captain’s death, to try to break through the encircling 
band. 

The dead and dying white men were alike hacked and speared 
in the blood-frenzy and love of slaughter common to all the 
aboriginals of Australia. The two women at the first clash of 
weapons had sunk clasped in each other’s arms, in the midst of 
the little band. Peggy Puce fainted before the strife ended, but 
Mrs. Cantling had been roused by the fall of her husband, over 

B 


PAVING THE WAY 


i8 

whose body she now lay moaning. Presently a scarred old warrior 
snatched it away, and with a gesture so stern and threatening 
warned her back when she would have followed, that she shrank 
aside and clung affrighted to Peggy, who had now also awakened 
to the consciousness of their awful position. 

A wild, piercing cry, known as the ‘ Coo-ee,’ was triumphantly 
given, and was almost instantly answered by the appearance of a 
motley gathering of aboriginal life. There were old men, bent 
with age, grizzled, scarred, and ugly ; old women, more ugly still, 
with legs and arms shrunk almost to the size of a walking-stick ; 
younger women carrying, or leading by the hand, piccaninnies of 
various ages and both sexes, impartially characterised by the 
aboriginal juvenile’s pot-belly ; young men and girls, nearly all 
with symmetrical forms — the rounded limbs, shapely busts, clear 
bright eyes, and white glittering teeth of the dusky maidens giving 
them much of that indefinable charm that ever attaches to bud- 
ding womanhood. Their dark glossy skins, with the tinge of 
bronze which is the natural hue of the Australian aboriginal 
until neglect, filth, and age have done their work, shone in the 
glow of the fires that had been lighted, as one and all they crowded 
up, to wonder and jabber with loud and rapid articulation. Their 
interest and wonder chiefly centred in the two women, whom they 
gazed upon, touched and questioned, without satisfying their un- 
sophisticated surprise. 

Suddenly, from where their dead countryman lay, arose a wild 
wail of lamentation, now high and piercing, anon low, but always 
mournful and monotonous, the same dirge being repeated as it 
was taken up by each individual. The old and the hideous were the 
most vehement in the expression of the common grief, but the 
younger members of the tribe also occasionally joined in. This 
continued while some of the men wrapped the body in the scanty 
clothing it had worn in life ; then they carried it forth, to lay it 
where others of his race reposed. That done, a frenzy of passion 
seized the old hags and some of the men and boys. They rushed 
upon the bodies of the white men with brutal, abusive cries ; their 
clothes were torn away, and every indignity and horror that savage 
ingpuity could devise was perpetrated on the slain. Then, when 
their furious spite was appeased or spent, the mutilated remains 
were dragged down and cast into the sea, and derisively told to 
return whence they came. In this access of fury Mrs. Cantling 
and Peggy would certainly have been killed, if some of the prin- 
cipal men had not borne them away to the camp of the tribe, on 
the shore of the Coorong. There they were placed in the centre, 
where each movement could be observed by all around. 

The whole of the band presently came in, staggering under the 
booty they had taken. Everything eatable was lavishly thrown 
about in the reckless manner of the Australian black in the time 
of abundance ; some of the food was tossed away with contempt, 
while more met with the decided appreciation of the aboriginal 






A Corroboree. 






THE MASSACRE 


19 


appetite. Flour was voted unpalatable, and no wonder, since in 
their ignorance they essayed to devour it dry ; but for purposes 
of personal adornment it was much valued, particularly when 
preparing for the festive ‘ Corroboree.’ 

The feast over, the relatives of the slain warrior struck up the 
wail again, and for a while were listened to with the respect 
invariably paid to the dead, but as the night advanced the 
elation and triumph of victory found expression in the national 
dance. 

Forms were painted anew, fantastically but withal effectively ; 
fires were stirred into a blaze ; and in the background of the 
camp, on the brink of the water, the performers took their stand. 
The women began the chant, beating time upon opossum-rugs 
folded with the fur within, and to the clash of arms the dancers 
paced into the firelight. 

The native dances vary. Frequently they are essentially of a 
peaceful and unexciting nature, in which mere amusement for the 
multitude is sought. On special occasions, when feminine visitors 
or captives are present, they are of a distinctly festive and im- 
moral tendency ; then proceedings are indulged in that polite 
society would shudder at, but which the laws of the Australian 
aboriginals sanction. Again, when the theme is war, the warrior 
is painted and bedizened with tenfold elaboration from the sole of 
his feet to the crown of his head. Weapons in hand, he parades 
proudly before his people, boasting of past exploits and vaunting 
of his prowess in the future. Hideous, grotesque, yet striking, 
he forms one of a whirling, bounding throng of warlike figures, 
passing before the bewildered eyes of the spectator with bran- 
dished arms and waving plumes in strange and swift evolution. 
Again, they form in line, square, or other intelligible order, and 
foot it featly, all the time uttering suppressed, fierce cries to the 
accompaniment of their trampling feet, the clash of weapons, and 
the beat of their rude music. Hour succeeds hour; often the 
whole night long, or indeed successive nights, are thus spent, and 
the excitement lasts until nature can no more. It is the same 
with all the black-fellow’s pleasures— eating, drinking, sleeping, or 
the tender passion ; in all alike he knows or acknowledges no law 
to limit his full indulgence. 

Under these circumstances it may well be surmised that the 
fate of the unfortunate Englishwomen was a dreadful one. They 
were separated during the night, and only occasionally saw each 
other for several days ; and even that consolation was soon to 
cease, as they gathered that the tribe was to separate, one-half to 
proceed down between the Coorong and the sea, the other round 
the east end of the lake. 

It was now that the leaders of the party that had destroyed the 
shipwrecked crew claimed their rights over the captured women. 
They asserted, in the many wrangles that took place concerning 
them, that the awful custom of the tribe regarding women taken 


20 


PAVING THE WAY 


in war or stolen had been complied with, and that it was now 
time they were allowed to take them to themselves as their 
lubras. In compliance with these representations, before the 
parting of the tribe a council was held to settle in proper form 
the rival claims. The powerful savage who had led the attack 
demanded Peggy as his prize, alleging that he had struck down 
the chief of the white men, and therefore had a right to the first 
choice. An older warrior calmly asserted that his hand had slain 
more men, and his rank entitled him to the prize. 

In utter misery the two women, scarcely comprehending the 
nature of the dispute, were clinging together a few feet away. 
As the quarrel rose higher, Talco, the scarred warrior, strode 
towards them and was about to seize on Peggy, when his rival 
dashed upon him, and a fierce combat began. Each was armed 
with only a waddy, and after a rapid shower of blows had been 
interchanged they simultaneously parted and rushed for their 
shields and spears. An aged, tottering old man, who exercised 
great influence over his people and had presided over the council, 
rose from where he sat, picked up a club, and, stepping to the 
unconscious women, with two quick blows mercifully closed their 
existence. The two combatants saw the deed, and the poised 
spears fell. 

‘ My children,’ said he, ‘ the father of his people cannot see 
them kill each other for the women of a strange race. Because I 
knew that while they lived there would be much strife among us, 
I have taken their lives. Let them be forgotten, and let the men 
of my tribe be content with their own women.’ 

It was an act quite in accordance with the usages of the tribe, 
and met with the full approval of most of its members and the 
silent acquiescence of all. What to them were the lives of two 
women of whom they were already almost weary? As for the 
lubras, they would long ago have slain the white women had they 
dared and had opportunity served ; but the deed that was sanc- 
tioned when committed by a chief would have been bitterly 
resented if done by a feminine hand. 


CHAPTER IV 

A RACE FOR LIFE 

When Roland dashed away, the moment was most favourable for 
his escaping notice, as the attention of all was concentrated on the 
cornbat between Talco and the captain. Once through the 
encircling bush, he was out of sight, and in a few minutes was on 
the beach racing for dear life. The horror of the scene he had 


A RACE FOR LIFE 


21 


left behind lent increased swiftness to his feet. Even yet, amid 
the clash of weapons and the yells of the savages dying away in 
the distance, the last words of his friend and protector seemed 
still to ring in his ears : ‘ Run, Roland, run, and keep to the 
beach.’ 

Instinctively — for as yet he could not reason — he did so ; close to 
the water, too, for had not the captain particularly impressed upon 
him the necessity of that ? A cool breeze refreshed him, while the 
sand was so firm and hard that running seemed the natural pace. 
He could run for ever over such a course, and he found himself 
speculating whether he could reach some distant object without 
pausing to take breath. He was still too confused to realise why 
he was running or whither ; he could only recollect that his friend 
said he must go his fastest and along the sea-shore. 

Presently he felt his boots an encumbrance and stopped to pull 
them off. On rising again, the full loneliness of his position burst 
upon him. Would it be better to go back to the captain? 
possibly he was still alive, or some of the others. Then the terrific 
scene of his friends at bay, ringed in by a horde of bloodthirsty 
savages, came vividly back to him, and, flinging his boots away, 
with blanched face the poor boy fled on. 

Fortunately the savages did not immediately discover that any 
one had escaped. It was only when the fight ended that, looking 
over the dead, the scarred warrior missed him, and then night 
had quite fallen and it was impossible to track him. At early 
morning a search was made and his trail followed to the beach, 
but the tide had risen, completely obliterating every further trace. 
Two srnall parties of the fleetest young men were told off, one to 
follow the coast to the west, the other to go eastward, in case the 
fugitive took to the land or followed the eastern shore. This we 
know he did not do, and, after persevering nearly the whole day 
with the untiring patience of the Australian aboriginal when in 
pursuit of his prey, the second party returned. The western 
trackers, however, three strong and agile young fellows, first 
carefully examined the lad’s track to the sea, and observed that it 
did not make straight down to the water, but trended slightly to 
the westward. 

The clew was found ; the hunter’s instinct told them that their 
prey had gone in this direction. Spreading themselves out to be 
more certain of finding the trail on the hard sand, they sped on. 
On this depended the early success of their pursuit, as if, from 
fatigue or the state of the tide, the boy went up into the sandhills 
to rest, and they passed without seeing his tracks, the chase might 
be much prolonged. At high-water he must do this, and then they 
calculated upon overtaking him, as the soft, yielding, dry sand 
would render travelling impossible for one so young after all he 
had gone through. Probably at daylight, if not sooner, he had 
retired, wearied and sleepy, to the shelter of the bushes above 
high-water mark. If, therefore, they could cover the distance he 


22 


PAVING THE WAY 


had travelled during the night, before darkness set in, they were 
confident of catching him. 

On, on, on : no bloodhound ever followed a scent with so true 
and faultless an instinct as these savages kept to this trackless 
trail. Yet not traceless, for damning evidence of the accuracy of 
their conclusions is presently supplied, all unwittingly, by the 
fugitive himself. The unerring eye of the leading runner sees a 
dark, small object half-buried in seaweed, and with a grin ot 
triumph he holds it up and points to its size and smooth inside 
surface, as a proof of the identity of the owner and its having been 
recently worn. 

Poor Roland ! he little thought when he tore off his boots that 
they would make plain the track the waves had hidden. Yet this 
incident helped him somewhat, for his pursuers, with the cunning 
of the aboriginal, were suspicious of an intention to throw them 
off the scent. Possibly with bare feet he might attempt to pass into 
the bush, in the hope of his footprints being mistaken for those of 
one of their own people. There was the more colouring given to this 
reasoning by the fact that just there were a number of the tracks 
of the natives who during the previous evening had been collecting 
cockles. 

Half-an-hour’s examination conclusively showed that the white 
boy’s foot had made none of these impressions, and on they dashed 
again, all the keener for the delay. Meanwhile the tide was rising 
higher, each moment making travelling more laborious ; and 
though with the light springy step of Australia’s wild sons they skim 
over the softer sand, their speed is somewhat checked. Will they 
reach the hunted boy ere the sheltering veil of night falls, alike 
over the everlasting roll of those tempestuous waves, thundering 
in wild confusion upon that desolate shore ; over the long strip of 
bush-clad sandbanks ; over the lake sleeping so quietly close to the 
sea, that seems to hunger to absorb it ; and over the young life 
struggling bravely for existence against these inexorable, inhuman 
Australian sleuthhounds ? 

We left Roland Grantley towards midnight flying for his life along 
what in later days became known as ‘The Ninety-Mile Beach,’ 
a long stretch of gently sloping sand that stays the progress of 
the mighty Southern Ocean. Far out to sea the heavy rollers 
break, and then, in a turmoil of tossing foam, come rushing 
impatiently on, until their final force expends itself in a faint 
ripple, not an inch deep, on the barrier that has curbed their 
strength for ages. The receding waves leave the sand so broad 
and hard, that the feet of a galloping horse make but a slight 
imprint, while the beat of his hoofs echoes musically in the ears 
of the rider. Along such a course as this the human runner, if 
young and strong, can cover a great distance without feeling much 
fatigue. For weary hours — indeed, until approaching day began to 
dawn rosily in the east behind him — Roland had pressed swiftly 
on, breaking from a fast walk into a trot and again into a run. 


A RACE FOR LIFE 


23 

But as the sun rose he became aware that the hard belt of sand 
was being rapidly narrowed by the incoming tide. 

For a considerable time, by keeping a little in the water, he felt 
but slight inconvenience. Then a larger wave would come up and 
force him on to the yielding sand, or compel him to wade in water 
so deep that the exertion was greater still, if progress was to be 
made ; yet he doggedly continued, giving himself certain objects 
to attain before turning into the scrub to rest. One after another 
these were reached and passed, as he thought how interminable 
the day would appear if spent in inaction. But at last further 
progress became so exhausting that, when he came to a hummock 
rather higher than the others, with thick green shady bushes 
covering its sides, he decided to rest there for a time, promising 
himself that after a while he would push on again. 

On climbing to the top, he found that it commanded an extensive 
view of the coast in each direction, as well as over the Coorong, 
behind, which seemed alive with countless numbers of water-fowl. 
Pelicans, black swans, ducks of many kinds, disported themselves 
by the brink of the latter, or on its shining, placid surface. It 
looked so peaceful that the wanderer was instinctively, almost un- 
consciously, moving towards it, when his eye caught sight of a spire 
of smoke rising near the edge of the lake some two miles to the west- 
ward. Drawing back quickly, he lay down beneath the thick shade 
of the undergrowth, and determined to remain there till the tide had 
fallen sufficiently to admit of easy travel. Presently he began to 
feel both hungry and thirsty. Fortunately his canteen contained 
some of its supply of water, and the ship’s biscuits were still in his 
pockets. When his meal was done, a drowsiness came over him. 
For a while he fought against it, fearing that the savages would 
kill him in his sleep ; but exhausted nature had its way at length, 
and a sweet, refreshing sleep fell upon him. 

Hour after hour he lay, his fair young face peaceful in its undis- 
turbed repose, until the sun was half-hid behind his western veil. 
Then he woke with a start. Gone were the bright visions of home 
with his mother bending over him. There was the interminable, 
ever-surging sea, there the lake, and between them the strip oi 
country, of which he had lately seen so much, with its billowy 
surface covered with bushes and small trees, some green, others 
frosted over with ocean’s salt almost to whiteness. There, too, is 
the broad stretch of wet sand left by the retiring waves, so broad 
now that surely hours ago he ought to have been gone. 

Slinging the canteen over his shoulder, he rose to go, when far along 
the shore to the east three black specks appeared. They were miles 
away, but Roland knew at once what they were and their purpose. 
He had seen them through the bushes, and felt satisfied that they 
could not have observed him. Cautiously he crept through the 
sandhills, and then made his way to the beach through an open- 
ing. By this time it was dusk, and nothing could be seen of his 
pursuers. He gave one brief look and then hurried on. On, on — 


24 


PAVING THE WAY 


not even the fleet, dark runners of the Coorong could gain on the 
speed of those flying feet. If the lynx-eyed trackers have not 
seen him leave the shelter of the friendly bushes or pass down on 
to the water-line, he may widely increase the distance between 
them while they follow the trail to his resting-place and through 
the hummocks to the sea again. But when was the aboriginal’s 
sight at fault ? When we left the three trackers, the morning tide, 
which was highest about midday, was considerably retarding their 
progress. When the low water permitted, they had satisfied their 
hunger by scooping up cockles as they ran, and now, as they could 
only proceed slowly, one of the party was detached to fetch a 
supply of water from a native well over the sandbanks. A water 
bag had been brought, made of the skin of an opossum, whose 
body had simply been carefully drawn through the aperture caused 
by cutting off the head. When filled, these vessels assume the 
shape of the animal originally covered by the skin, and, indeed, 
might be mistaken for it, were the head and fur left on. Such 
water-bags or bottles are common to all the tribes of the interior, 
and are frequently made of the skins of much larger animals than 
the opossum. 

When the messenger returned, the two who had continued the 
pursuit drank their fill, and then they all slept till the falling tide 
enabled them to push forward with comparatively little fatigue. 
Then they rose, dashed into the sea for a moment, and away with 
all the tireless ardour of their race when on a blood-hunt. As the 
sun disappeared, their sharp eyes noticed the sand knoll where 
Roland had rested ; and though it was far distant, and the darkness 
grew deeper every moment, they made out a moving speck on the 
white sand between the scrub and the sea. 

Roland from his elevation on the knoll, and with the line of white 
surf as a background, had half an hour earlier, when the sun had 
not quite gone, been scarcely able to distinguish their three forms. 
Yet they, with their marvellous powers of vision, had, in spite of 
all the disadvantages of a dead level and failing light, distinguished 
him, though smaller than any one of them. It was only for a few 
seconds, but the hunters knew that he was in front, and that from 
the space separating them, if the boy kept up the speed of the 
preceding night, the chase must yet be a long one. They passed 
the knoll without turning aside ; they knew their prey was far in 
advance, and they hurried on with tireless stride. Far into the 
night they sped swiftly on, until, fearing that their quarry might 
take to the land and so double on them, they camped to await the 
daylight. 

Now, only a few miles in front, they knew that the father of all 
Australian waters, the mighty Murray, mingled his pure stream 
with the ocean, after traversing thousands of miles from his far- 
distant birthplace in the mountains. 

Suppose the despairing boy did reach the brink of the fiercely 
flowing river, could his young strength stem a current which the 


A RACE FOR LIFE 


25 


best of a tribe of incomparable swimmers shunned ? If not, how 
could he escape with the terrific torrent of ‘ The Mouth ’ before him, 
the boundless ocean to the left, the broad lake to the right, and a 
foe as inexorable as fate or fire at his heels ? Utterly unable to 
accomplish his deliverance by means of the first three, what could 
save him from the last? Would it be possible to hide in the 
scrub, or cover himself in the sand, or sink to the nose in the 
water, and so elude them ? They laughed with scornful glee at 
the thought, and, telling each other that they would slay him, if 
not before, then at least where the big waters met, and throw his 
body to the fishes of the great river, they slumbered as peacefully 
as if they had been models of purity and innocence. 

Happily knowing nothing of the formidable barrier he was 
approaching, Roland sped along the smooth, level sand with un- 
abated speed ; sometimes looking fearfully behind for any sign, 
once or twice even staying to listen. Then away with hope growing 
stronger that dawn of day would give to view the bluff with the 
flagstaff, perhaps the buildings or tents of a settlement. It might 
be that the pursuers, knowing this, had abandoned the chase ; and 
when light did come and he saw nothing on the line of beach 
behind, while far away, shrouded in the morning mist yet plainly 
visible as it rose abruptly from the sea, stood the noble headland 
he seemed to have seen in his dreams, hope grew almost into a 
certainty. 

The very sight of the haven he had been so anxiously watching 
for gave him a momentary access of strength. He would push on 
without stopping until near enough to distinguish the houses ; then, 
sure of safety, he would gladly rest. When the sun, however, had 
risen higher above the hummocks, beginning to feel sorely fatigued, 
he left the beach, and, mounting a high sandbank so as to obtain 
a better view of the bluff, determined to repose awhile. There it 
stood, a remarkable natural object, perhaps twenty miles distant — 
too far distant for him to see the dwellings he had hoped for. As 
he gazed straight in a line with the hill, on the top of a wave he saw 
something — it sank out of sight and then rose again— yes, it was a 
boat with men in it coming towards him ! The joy, the relief, 
made his heart beat so that he could scarcely breathe. He fran- 
tically waved his cap, and finally threw it in the air ; going to pick 
it up, he faced the beach to the east. There, a few hundred yards 
from him, racing at full speed, by the edge of the water, were the 
three black trackers, their gestures showing their delight that the 
quarry was at last run to earth. With white, set face he flew down 
the hummock and along the beach for his life, the pursuing foes 
gaining upon him at every step, while the boat was now out of 
sight, and despair was once more fast gathering round the brave 
heart of the hunted boy. 


PAVING THE WAY 


a6 


CHAPTER V 

THE WHALING STATION 

Take up the map of Australia, and you will see in the southern 
portion of the colony of South Australia three great indentations 
cutting into the coast-line. Spencer’s Gulf to the west, penetrating 
deep into the continent, terminates at Port Augusta in a natural 
harbour safe as a dock. Probably ages ago it was connected with 
Lakes Torrens and Eyre. St. Vincent’s Gulf, in the centre, on 
the eastern shore of which now stands the fair city of Adelaide, 
the capital of the colony, also penetrates far inland, where it has 
its own ports and centres of population. Each of these vast sheets 
of water is comparatively calm, as Kangaroo Island, long and 
narrow, and running parallel with the land, effectually protects the 
latter, and in some measure the former, from the mighty Southern 
rollers. On the exposed side of the island they expend their 
power, unbroken by islet or shoal since leaving the unknown 
regions that gave them birth. The easterly expanse, known as 
Encounter Bay, where much of this story is laid, unlike the others 
is open and unprotected. Unchecked by intervening land or rock, 
the full force of old Ocean’s might seems to roll perpetually into 
that immense curve rather than bay from the far Antarctic depths 
and storms. The only power that avails to beat down the great 
rollers is the fierce, hot north wind, that comes sweeping across 
the arid plains of the stone-strewn interior. It is one strong 
element meeting another ; but even in the height of the land-born 
hurricane’s strength the everlasting billows still beat in a sup- 
pressed angry thunder on the exposed rocks and sands of the 
vast bay. 

The coast-line of the peninsula lying between Encounter Bay 
and St. Vincent’s Gulf is a remarkable one. Beginning in low 
rocky cliffs, where the hills join the Adelaide plains at Brighton, 
it grows in height and ruggedness, with short intervals of sandy 
beach, until near Rapid Bay it becomes extremely picturesque and 
even grand. Passing Cape Jervis, away from the shelter of Kan- 
garoo Island, the Waitpinga cliffs rise boldly, abruptly, defiantly, 
to the increasing swell that expends itself on their base. Round 
the southern end of the peninsula, except for short breaks of heavy 
sand, the bold precipices continue with undiminished ruggedness, 
till they culminate in that magnificent natural feature, ‘The Bluff’ 
of the old whalers — since called Rosetta Head. 

In it the Mount Lofty Range terminates after a sweep round 
the lower lands bordering the river Murray and Lake Alexandrina 
and part of Encounter Bay. Two miles to the west of it, set in 
the stormy sea, is West Island, forming some sort of shelter to an 


THE WHALING STATION 


27 


exposed bay formed by the Blufif running out nearly at right angles 
from the mainland. The island is only a few acres in extent, and 
is principally composed of granite boulders. From its outer end 
a deeply submerged reef runs to the land — so deep, indeed, as 
scarcely to break the heavy rollers that furiously sweep through 
the passage. 

Almost imrnediately on the other side of the Bluff, perhaps half 
a mile away, lies Wright’s Island, between which and the headland 
is a pretty cove, nestling under the mighty brow of the wonderful 
hill. Barely two miles farther along the coast, but scarcely half 
that distance from the mainland, is Granite Island, the largest of 
the group. Away out in the open sea beyond it stands, like a 
sentinel. Seal Rock, a mere heap of jumbled granite boulders, 
defying the ceaseless thrash of the never-ending waves. Again, a 
few miles round the shore of the bay and projecting into the sea, 
stands ‘Freeman’s Nob,’ a bold cape bordered with stupendous 
rocks, against which the rollers ever rage. This promontory, with 
the assistance of some outlying rocks, has made a determined 
attempt to form a natural harbour where some rest and shelter 
might be found from the continual strife outside, but with indifferent 
success. 

Beyond this there is nothing but the long, monotonous stretch 
of shifting sandhills and nearly dead-level beach surrounding the 
huge bay. For many weary miles the only noteworthy object is 
‘The Mouth,’ where Murray’s waters rush to the sea. This is 
about twenty miles from ‘ The Bay,’ the site of the old whale 
fishery under ‘The Bluff.’ 

This bay, with its many islands and reefs ever veiled in white 
foam, is picturesque and beautiful. The fringe of foam, lining its 
blue waters and appearing and disappearing in ever-changing 
forms, lends it a charm peculiarly its own. Even in the calmest 
weather this is never absent, and the voice of the restless element 
is never silent. During the prevailing winds from the south, or 
the westerly gales, the fringe of white becomes a broad belt and 
the muttering of the ocean rises to a deafening, angry roar. 

These characteristics of ‘the unchanging sea’ continue now, as 
when this story opens and Britain’s daring sons and daughters first 
landed upon its wild shores. A metamorphosis has indeed come 
over these hills, slopes, valleys, and plains, once clothed with all 
nature’s prodigality and beauty. Pouring their waters into the 
bay are two rivers, formidable torrents in winter, in summer’s 
driest time clear and charming. The Hindmarsh flows through 
the valley of the same name, and never stream meandered through 
a fairer scene of rich natural beauty : surrounded as it is by lofty 
hills, and clothed with magnificent eucalypti of many kinds, 
from the lordly blue and red gum to the drooping peppermint, 
with the handsome blackwood, shea-oak, and acacia in park-like 
beauty ; splendidly grassed and rich with the wild, lavish glory of 
Australian native flowers. The sister stream, the Inman, winding 


28 


PAVING THE WAY 


through a valley just as fair to see and skirting the foot of Crozier’s 
Hill, as the Hindmarsh does that of Mount Peerallila, passes 
through the hills that form the background of Encounter Bay. 
Each river is wooded to the brink, the willows and ti-trees of the 
new continent bending lovingly over the sparkling water. 

Between the Inman and the curving hills that end in the Bluff 
there lay a thickly timbered stretch of gently undulating country ; 
on the richer bottom-lands lofty gum-trees towered skyward, 
while on the slopes the smaller plant-life of Australian forests 
grew in luxurious profusion. Along the low sandbanks of the 
sea-shore, almost to the very water’s edge, stood numerous trees 
and bushes that have now almost entirely disappeared. The hills 
themselves were covered, even up to the crest of the Bluff and 
almost to the extremest brink of the storm-swept cliffs, as far 
as Newland’s Head, with the hardy, indigenous growth of the 
Southern land. 

It was, indeed, just such a spot as would charm the senses of 
the recluse or attract the squatter with his flocks and herds. But 
the days of the squatter and the farmer had not at the period of 
this story yet come ; the products of the soil lay neglected and 
unheeded, all but unknown. Not so the treasures of the sea. 
Man, in his ships, had followed the leviathan of the deep to these 
far-distant shores. More than that, he had already fixed his 
dwelling in the beautiful bay lying between the two headlands 
described above. Under the shadow of the Bluff a whaling station 
had been established, and from its brow floated a flag, or rather a 
series of flags, by which the watchmen there on the ‘ look-out ’ were 
wont to signal to the boats away at the islands, when a whale hove 
in sight, to indicate its position. The look-out was there from early 
morning to late evening, ever on the watch for the great black 
monsters that abound in these seas. 

The Bluff, so named by the whalers, seemed designed by nature 
for such a purpose, projecting as it does into the sea, and towering 
high and almost perpendicularly above it, so that its crest 
commands a wide view over the waters spread beneath — a view, 
indeed, only limited by the powers of man’s vision or those of the 
instruments he has invented to assist it. On the very summit was 
erected a flagstaff with projecting yard-arms. When a whale was 
sighted, a flag was run up and possibly a smoke raised to attract 
attention more effectually, and this was followed by a display of 
flags of different colours on the yard-arms to indicate the direction 
in which the whale was seen. The boats which were thus signalled 
lay in readiness at the islands or the Nob, to be nearer the pro- 
bable scene of operations. 

The station itself nestled at the foot of the ridge that connects 
the Bluff with the hills which form the background of the bay. 
Protected from the west and south winds, wooden huts had been 
built to shelter the rude, bold, often lawless men who hunted the 
monster of the deep. All honour to these men, who were the first, 


The whaling station under the Bluff. 








4 * I 

$ 



THE WHALING STATION 


29 


the very first, pioneers of South Australia ! In the long and 
glorious record of British pioneering they surely should find a 
place. They paved the way, in some sense, for the miner, the 
squatter, and the tiller of the soil, who followed to conquer and 
subdue the land, by conquering and making their own the wealth 
of the seas. But when we inquire into their relations with the wild 
aboriginal inhabitants of the nev/ land, the merest instinct of 
justice compels us to condemn much of their conduct. Almost as 
lawless and unscrupulous as the old sea-kings of the North, they 
paid small regard to the rights, matrimonial or other, of the un- 
fortunate people amongst whom they dwelt. Modern editions of 
the Rape of the Sabines were by no means uncommon, though 
possibly not on so extensive a scale as the original. Individual 
instances of disregard of the institutions, customs, and feelings of 
the aborigines, where their women were concerned, were still more 
frequent. The white man, exiled from the society of the women 
of his own race, coveted the charms of her dusky sisters ; and 
where, when unrestrained by the wholesome influence of law and 
order, or deterred by the force of public opinion, has the European 
learned to control his passions ? 

But even in the early days of which we are speaking, and among 
such rude communities as these, there was a general instinct of 
justice existing. That which the individual was willing to condone, 
or even more or less practise himself, he, as a member of the 
community, condemned. That the aborigines got the worst of it 
when brought into contact with the whites under such conditions, 
as they have ever since, is certain. Their resistance to the lust of 
the intruder has been misrepresented or denied, and the many 
cases in which they have been known to kill the ravisher have 
been assigned to any other cause than care or love for their 
women. Not one of the least of the wrongs done to the aboriginal 
race by his all-absorbing white brother has been, after conquering 
and debasing him, to traduce and malign him for the very vices 
to which he has been forcibly compelled to submit. Here is a 
true incident, if men of the time are not all liars, and memory can 
be trusted not to play more untoward pranks than we think. 

There was a shortness of hands on a whaling ship at Kangaroo 
Island, and when the season was slack at Encounter Bay an agent 
went round in a boat to obtain the services of some of the un- 
employed men there. He was not very successful, and one of the 
few engaged, on arrival at the ship, repented and refused to join. 
He was therefore conveyed to the mainland, and a black fellow 
engaged to show him the native path and accompany him back 
to the whaling station. This service having been loyally per- 
formed, another was demanded — the surrender of the guide’s 
lubra. A quarrel ensued, and the black man’s waddy fractured 
the white man’s skull. 

It so happened that a whaler was in ‘The Cove’ at the time, 
a whale having been killed, and the crew were engaged in cutting 


30 


PAVING THE WAY 


the animal up. By some means they became acquainted with 
what had occurred, and captured the black-fellow — ‘ I avoid calling 
him murderer,’ said ‘ the old hand ’ who narrated the circumstances 
to the writer. 

To prevent his escape what did they do ? Chain him up, bind 
him hand and foot ? No ! none of these things. The expedient 
was at once simple and secure. They coopered him up in a tun- 
butt, a cask about the size of a hogshead, in the hold of the ship. 
How long he remained doubled up in that confined space will 
never be known, for even in the old days the tale was spoken of 
with bated breath among those who knew it. To save him from 
absolute suffocation they let him out at last. We can imagine the 
wily savage biding his time until his cramped limbs recovered 
their strength and his muscles their elasticity. Then, while 
forward in the bows, he dived into the water, and, let us hope, 
escaped, as it was confidently asserted that he did. If so, he 
would still have the police to deal with. It may be asked, why 
did the whalers keep him in the cask ? what was their ulterior 
object ? The reply has been given that even in those lawless 
times it was wisest to do certain things outside the jurisdiction of 
the colony. ‘ Better wait till we are away in the open sea, and 
then , . . 


CHAPTER VI 

THE headman’s DAUGHTER 

It is a bright Australian morning, and the air is clear, even cold, 
with the south wind whistling through the shrubs and trees which 
adorn the slope of the ridge beneath which lies the whaling station 
of Encounter Bay. The billows of the bay are troubled still with 
the swell that the storm outside has raised. On the many reefs 
studding it huge waves crash and tumble in wild disorder, casting 
their feathery heads in flying foam into the air. In the strong pro- 
tected timber of the level land lying between the hills and the shore 
the devastating force of the tempest has left its mark on the giants 
of the forest, denuded of branches, with trunks wrenched asunder, 
or torn up bodily by the roots, taking tons of earth with them. 
Along the exposed slope above the cliffs, from the west side of the 
Bluff to Porpoise Head, there has been wild work indeed. There 
the trees have ever waged war with the prevailing winds and gales 
of the south and south-west, as is shown by the universal bend they 
have in the opposite direction. Those next the brink of the heights, 
more particularly, look as if one were chasing the other in rapid 
flight from a region so inhospitable. Dwarfed, stunted, and bent, 


THE HEADMAN’S DAUGHTER 


31 


they still form some protection to those farther from the sea, until 
in the more favoured situations they stand erect and fair to behold. 
For nearly a mile there is the prevailing bend northwards, which 
gives them the appearance of running away, those more inland 
not putting on so much pace as those near the ocean. These are 
principally shea-oaks, and, though their sloping position offers the 
least resistance to the storm, they strew the ground, torn up, 
twisted, and riven. Many of the small boughs of those on higher 
ground have been carried down to the Fishery itself. Branches 
and young green twigs, with beautiful flowers, have been strewn 
broadcast by nature’s lavish, destroying hand to deck the waters of 
the bay. They fill the very ‘ trying-down pots’ — huge iron boilers 
in which the fat, technically called ‘ condolly,’ or blubber, of the 
whales is melting — and strew the roofs of the cottages and boat- 
house. 

From the latter extends a long landing-stage, formed of saplings 
laid horizontally across strong spars, supported by thick perpen- 
dicular posts sunk in the ground, the whole sloping from the shed 
to the water. On this the whale boats are run up into cover every 
night, and down again in the morning, to go off in pursuit of the 
huge quarry. There are dwelling-houses as well — two, near the 
boat-shed, much resembling each other. From them loud mas- 
culine voices may be heard proclaiming, ‘ It is time to get up.’ 
From these, shortly after, emerge the rough, half-clad forms of 
several men. The first is ‘ Harpooner Jack,’ a tall, handsome 
fellow about twenty-eight or thirty years of age. 

‘The blow is over at last,’ says he, ‘and when the cook has let 
us have breakfast we will make all snug again. Halloa,’ he adds, 
‘ there among the rubbish is the Headman’s daughter picking out 
the flowers.’ 

‘ Harpooner Jack,’ whose real name was John Frost, pulled bow 
oar in the Headman’s boat. As his title implies, his duty was to 
‘ make fast ’ the moment he was within striking distance of the 
whale. It required a strong arm and unerring aim to drive the 
heavy barbed weapon, with the thick, strong whale-line attached, 
through the air into the great game. In this Jack rarely failed, as 
his courage was steady and his nerves unshaken as yet by the 
periodical debauch on the strongest and coarsest Jamaica rum. 
Put him within reasonable distance, and that deadly dart would 
fly through space and sink deep into the flesh of the unfortunate 
creature against whom it was directed. Apart from these quali- 
ties, which perhaps constituted his principal merits in the opinion 
of his employers, he was a manly and fairly honest fellow. He 
would not pick your pocket, but possibly, if he found your purse, 
he might forget to return it. Morality among men of his class in 
those wild times was naturally of alaxer kind than o«r more correct 
period sanctions. Still, Jack was a good fellow on the whole, 
whose word either man or woman might depend on in ordinary 
matters. Of course, if the temptation to go ‘ on the cross ’ was too 


32 


PAVING THE WAY 


strong he could not help it. By this it must not be understood, 
however, that he would, under any circumstances, betray his ‘ pal ’ ; 
that, in the rude ethics of the community, was the unpardonable 
sin— a baseness that could not be condoned. His position was 
that of first officer to the Headman, who steered the boat, and this 
gave him a certain authority over the other men, which, however, 
was by no means too stringent. 

The Headman was, however, an autocrat ; his word was law 
during the whole of the fishing season, not to be for one moment 
disputed by any soul on the station. When that period elapsed, 
each man was ‘ as good as his master,’ perhaps better in his own 
eyes — particularly if there was any rum about. Mr. David Cleeve, 
the Headman, occupied the third cottage, situated a hundred 
yards from the other two, towards the Bluff, but under the same 
sheltering bank. He was both liked and respected by the little 
community he ruled. A consummate boatman, cool and daring, 
he commanded their admiration, while his imperturbable good- 
temper, justice, and open-handedness were qualities that won their 
regard. Physically he was a man after their own hearts : about 
thirty-eight years old, and over six feet high, with broad, massive 
shoulders and chest, above which was set a small head, with a 
jolly, round face lighted up by laughing blue eyes. His arms and 
hands were large, but perfectly symmetrical, and with all his bulk 
he carried no superfluous flesh. Upright as one of his own forest 
trees and strong as an elephant, his splendid form was a combina- 
tion of all the manly perfections that the old Romans looked for 
in their gladiators. 

His history none knew beyond the fact that he came from Van 
Diemen’s Land. This might mean much or little. He never 
spoke of his past life, and he must have been a bold as well as an 
unwise man who ventured to excite the ire of the giant by un- 
solicited or impertinent questioning. His household consisted ol 
a middle-aged woman, said to be the widow of an elder brother 
long dead, and a daughter of fourteen years. Mrs. Cleeve was a 
fairly well educated person, about fifty years of age, homely in 
appearance, and with a rather silent, reserved manner. She had 
kept house for her brother-in-law since the child had left school in 
Hobart, and had done much to complete her already fair educa- 
tion, considering all the very unfavourable circumstances. 

The daughter, introduced to us by Jack the Harpooner as 
engaged picking up the scattered flowers, is known by the name 
of ‘ Petrel.’ An impression exists that this strange name was given 
her because she was born on a wreck under peculiarly painful 
circumstances, when her mother lost her life. To her the name 
does not appear strange, for the abbreviation ‘ Pet ’ is what she has 
been called at school and at home as long as she can remember. 
Of late she has seen nothing of other girls except among the 
natives. As we see her gathering her country’s wild-flowers on 
that bright, breezy morning, she is as beautiful as any of them. 


THE HEADMAN’S DAUGHTER 


33 


Small and slight, with long black hair tossed in disarray down her 
back, and somewhat pale complexion, in spite of the genial Aus- 
tralian sun, all her features are regular and faultless, while her eyes 
are dark and sparkling, with splendid long black lashes sweeping 
over them. Altogether, she is as fair a girl as one could wish to 
see, and gives promise of attaining a beauty so perfect as but 
rarely falls to the lot of women. Of music as taught in the schools 
she knows nothing ; but her voice is sweet as the native warblers 
that sing around her in the antipodean groves. Unversed in the 
usual feminine accomplishments, she can shoot well, and no dis- 
ciple of the famous Izaak ever handled rod and line more deftly. 
With fowling-piece or rifle in hand, she has often waited for the 
Cape Barren geese or pelicans which, in these early days, almost 
constantly flew over the whaling station backwards and forwards 
from the Murray and Coorong to the islands along the coast. 
Sitting on the slope above the huts, she has wondered why the 
pelicans always went in a wavy, undulating line, ever changing its 
shape, while the geese shot straight ahead in the invariable fixed 
form of a triangle, with the apex in front. If she brought one 
down, the triangle immediately assumed its shape again by the 
ranks closing up. Sometimes they would alight on the beach, and 
then the fowling-piece was brought into play with such effect that 
fat geese formed no unimportant adjunct to the viands of the 
Fishery. 

Her devotion to her father was unbounded — he was emphatic- 
ally her king of men ; and he repaid it by a love that never 
slept. His little daughter was never out of his mind; even during 
death-grips with the gigantic creatures which it was his business 
to slaughter, it may be doubted if he ever forgot her. On her 
part, the moment the flag rose on the top of the Bluff signalling 
a whale in sight. Petrel raced off up the winding path that led to the 
summit. There, with palpitating heart, she watched the boats 
closing swiftly in upon their prey, perhaps one from ‘the Nob,’ 
another from West Island, and more from Granite Island or Seal 
Rock. She well knew her father’s among them, and sometimes 
the capture took place so near that she could distinguish his form 
standing high in the stern as he steered straight for the monster. 
Though she trembled for his safety, yet she longed to see his 
craft glide up first and Jack rise in the bow, harpoon in hand. 
Would he succeed in striking? Hurrah! the taut line, the 
peaked oars, the arrowy speed with which the boat dashes 
through the water leaving a streak of foam behind, shows that 
they have ‘ made fast.’ Then the black back of the whale is seen, 
as he comes to the surface to breathe in the impetuous flight from 
the foes that cling to him. We do not know and can scarcely 
realise what the sensations and sufferings of the stricken whale 
are, though, no doubt, they are much the same as those of other 
hunted animals ; but to man with his sporting instincts there can 
be few moments to compare with those in which his boat is flying 

C 


34 


PAVING THE WAY 


at furious speed in the wake of the greatest of great game. What 
with the more than spice of danger, the rush, the wild excitement 
of the watery chase, it must be an ecstasy beyond compare. If 
the actors felt aught of this, so, in a double degree, did the child 
on the height above, as she gazed with wide, distended eyes at 
each movement. When the Headman at length intrusted the 
steering to one of his men and took his stand in the bows, with 
long lance in hand to deal the death-blows to the exhausted 
animal, her cheek would pale, for she knew it was the most 
dangerous moment. Necessarily close to the desperate creature, 
one stroke of its tail might crash the boat into a hundred pieces 
or toss it high into the air. She had witnessed several such acci- 
dents, but hitherto her sire had escaped, each successful exploit 
increasing her admiration and love. 

All this time we have been leaving Petrel gathering the wild 
bush-flowers tossed by the gale over the bank. Hearing her 
name called and turning to reply, she feels herself raised in the 
strong arms she knows so well. 

‘ Dad,’ she cries, ‘ isn’t it a pity to see the beautiful flowers 
thrown about everywhere in the dirt ? ’ 

‘Never mind, Pet, there are plenty more where these came 
from ; besides, it has given you something to do this fine morning. 
Now, come in and tidy up this long tail of yours,’ he goes on, 
taking up the heavy tresses in his great hand. ‘ Get your boots 
on, and when breakfast is over we will go up to the look-out ; I 
fear the flag-staff has been strained in the storm.’ 

‘ And don’t forget, dad, that you promised to take me to Seal 
Rock to see the young birds ; they must be nearly ready to fly 
now. We were to go the first fine day, and that will be to-morrow 
— won’t it, now ? ’ 

‘ Ay ! ay ! you wheedling little monkey ! If this heavy sea 
goes down, and the wind does not rise again, and the boats have 
not all been smashed like the flowers, or the sky doesn’t tumble 
in, or I am not too ill or lazy ! ’ 

The latter alternative seemed a great joke to the little maiden, 
as she laughingly jumped from his arms and ran into the cottage. 
The big man looked after her with a jolly chuckle, then sauntered 
over to his harpooner. 

‘ Jack,’ said he, ‘ we will, if the weather holds up, take the little 
woman with us to-morrow to “ The Rock ” for young birds, and 
perhaps do a little fishing on the reef. Get the boat ready for an 
early start and the tackle for schnapper ; we ought to have good 
sport, if the wind drops to-night.’ 

By this time a vigorous ‘ Coo-ee ! ’ gave notice that ‘Auntie’ (as 
Mrs. Cleeve was invariably called) had the morning meal ready. 
Petrel, now substantially booted and with the truant hair ‘ done 
up,’ as the fair sex express it, again appeared to promptly carry 
her sire off. 

‘I believe you would stop yarning all day, dad, till everything 





p. 35 


Petrel and her father at the flagstaff on the Bluff. 


THE HEADMAN’S DAUGHTER 


35 

is as cold as cold can be, and auntie as cross as two sticks, if it 
wasn’t for me. Come along, you old dawdle, run ! ’ 

With a deep laugh from his great chest Mr. Cleeve obeyed. 

‘ I ’m not the build for speed. Pet — slow and sure is my line. 
More of the barge than the whale-boat cut, eh, darling ?’ 

The room they entered took up most of the cottage, and served 
for dining-room, parlour, and kitchen combined. Two roughly 
made sofas or bunks with feather cushions and some three-legged 
stools, with a table in the centre, comprised most of the furniture. 
There was, however, a large cupboard occupying the recess 
between the fireplace and the end wall, which contained many of 
Auntie’s household gods. Iron or tin utensils hung from number- 
less pegs, or were ranged on shelves. Of earthenware there was 
very little. Everything was scrupulously clean ; the tin plates, 
pots, and pans of dazzling brightness were indeed shining evidence 
of the truth of Auntie’s assertion that she did not spare ‘ elbow- 
grease.’ There were only three other small rooms — one occupied 
by the Headman, another by Mrs. Cleeve and Petrel, while the 
third was kept for chance strangers, and was a lean-to outside 
the main building. Without the smallest pretensions to luxury, 
or even what we may consider the necessary conveniences of life, 
the building, with its fittings, made a comfortable dwelling for 
people accustomed to their rough, free life. 

The breakfast was hot ; the fish were fried to perfection ; the 
cakes that had been baked on the hearth were deliciously light ; 
above all, appetites were keen and digestions irreproachable. 
Milk there was in abundance, for the station owned a flock of 
goats which grazed and disported themselves on the banks and 
among the rocks in the vicinity of the huts. 

The meal over, Cleeve and Petrel started off for the look-out 
on the top of the Bluff. For about half a mile the rise was only 
gradual, but after that it became a steep climb. With firm, 
steady step the Headman breasted the mount, his breathing 
scarcely increased by the exertion. He would have helped his 
daughter, but, like an independent little woman, she zig-zagged 
actively about, and arrived on the summit before he did. 

‘Look, dad,’ she cried, ‘how plainly the Coorong beach can be 
seen ! ’ 

‘Ay! ay!’ he replied, ‘right along the Ninety-Mile Beach 
round even to the other side of the Bay. The Mouth, too— I have 
never seen it plainer; but there is a big swell on the shore yet.’ 

‘ Where is the Coorong itself, dad ? Can’t the water ever be 
seen from here ? ’ 

‘ No, dear, it lies just over the white sandhills beyond the river 
mouth, where that opening in the big hummocks is.’ 

‘ There are dreadful blacks down there, aren’t there, dad ? ’ 
asked Petrel in a musing tone. ‘ If they get hold of any poor 
people, thev kill them, don’t they ? ’ 

‘1 think' it very likely, Pet, though we don’t know very much 


PAVING THE WAY 


36 

about them. They certainly killed Captain Barker just across the 
Murray — that high white knoll was named after him.’ 

‘ Dad,’ she continued, ‘ supposing a wreck had been out there 
driving past during the storm the night you were up here, would 
you have known ? ’ 

‘No, Pet, it was too thick with mist and spray to see anything ; 
besides, I was only up for a few minutes. Tom Bedlow had care- 
lessly left the flags flying ; and while I was taking them down, one 
got loose and flew out to the head of the mast. It took me a little 
while to get the blessed thing down again. Just then the sun 
shone out for a moment, but 1 was too busy to look out to sea. 
It was blowing enough to take a man’s head off. Then the rain 
and sleet came on worse than ever, and I felt glad to get away.’ 

The girl had sat in a sad, silent manner on a stone listening to 
him, as if half-conscious of the suffering folk who had been so 
near rescue on that eventful night, if the bold, generous man had 
but looked the other way. 

‘All right, dad,’ she cried, springing up ; ‘that horrid storm is 
over now, and the sea getting so calm that we shall be able to go 
to the Rock to-morrow. I long to see it again.’ 

The Headman now set to work to repair the lashings that 
secured the flagstaff, Petrel assisting by holding the cord and 
various tools required. When all was finished she exclaimed, 
‘Now, dad, I really must set one big stone rolling down the steep 
side of the Bluff into the sea. You can help me with this big 
fellow.’ 

It took but a wrench of the powerful arm to start the rock 
thundering down the precipice until, dashed into fragments, it 
disappeared in the foaming waves beneath. Petrel’s great eyes 
had followed its rapid descent with absorbing interest ; when she 
turned to her father again, he was gazing at several spires of 
smoke rising on the distant Coorong. 

‘ One, two, three, four, more than half a dozen,’ he counted ; 
‘that is signalling. Pet, I believe. There, out go some of them 
and up rise others. Perhaps they are fixing up a fight among 
themselves, or maybe with our neighbours below there in the 
valley,’ he said, pointing to the aboriginal encampment, a little 
back from the beach and not far from the whaling station, 

‘ though they don’t seem to know anything about it, as they are 
quiet enough. Come along, dear, it’s no use watching those 
smokes ; if the darkies are up to some devilment, we can’t 
stop it.’ 

The girl obeyed, and presently, in the excitement of the 
scramble down, forgot the melancholy forebodings that seemed 
to oppress her. 


PET TO THE RESCUE 


37 


CHAPTER VII 

PET TO THE RESCUE 

The next morning Petrel was up, not with the lark but with 
Australia’s songsters, the magpies — full of pleasurable anticipa- 
tions of the day’s adventures. Jack the Harpooner was early 
despatched to the boat with a basketful of provisions, so that 
there might be no delay in starting the moment breakfast was 
finished. That over, and the usual words of admonition delivered 
by Auntie, they started for the landing-stage. 

The boat was already on the inclined plane, the oars lying in 
her, and the crew, three on either side and one at the stern, were 
ready, when the headman and his daughter took their seats, to 
run her swiftly into the sea. The moment they were in and the 
word had been given, away shot the boat ; and as she entered the 
water, each man lightly sprang into his place, the oars dropped 
into the row-locks, her bow swung to seaward as the long steering- 
oar was wielded by the hands of Cleeve, and with a ‘ Give way, 
men ! ’ the Foam dashed over the waves. 

There was a fresh breeze from the south, bringing in a steady 
roll which broke upon the numberless reefs by which this portion 
of the bay is characterised. Inside Wright’s Island they passed, 
straight for Seal Rock, the bright sweet face of the child full of 
delight as she watched the hundreds of birds circling round. 

‘Porpoises, dadl’ she cried ; ‘and there is “Old Noah” with 
the slit in his tail. I wonder if he ever does leave the Bay.’ 

Noah, the porpoise so named by the whalers, and always to be 
recognised by the mark in his caudal appendage, was an old 
friend of Petrel’s. Indeed, he was considered under her especial 
protection, and not a man belonging to the settlement would have 
dreamed of injuring him. Soon they approached Seal Rock, the 
surf breaking furiously to seaward over the reef that lies to the 
south-west of it. 

‘Too rough for good fishing. Pet,’ said the Headman ; ‘but we 
will land and look at the nests and young birds.’ 

‘ Oh, dad ! ’ she cried. ‘ Look at the seals — one, two, three, 
ever so many, and thousands of beautiful birds !’ 

The boat now drew up under the lee of the island, and Cleeve 
and Petrel sprang lightly on to a rock from the bows. One man 
followed, the rest lying off in the boat. The seals had tumbled 
off into the water after a leisurely stare, to the great amusement 
of the child. But the nests were there— penguins’, mutton birds’, 
and those of different kinds of gulls — some with eggs, others with 
young fledglings in all the grotesque stages between embryo 
chickenhood and the glory of full-grown plumage. Deeply inter- 


PAVING THE WAY 


38 

ested in these feathered and unfeathered curiosities, Petrel had 
lingered behind, keeping her father with her. 

‘ There she spouts !’ came in stentorian tones from the top of the 
island. 

‘Where away?’ roared the Headman, as he, all the professional 
ardour of the whaler aroused, with long strides rushed up the 
rocks. 

‘Straight in line for the Murray Mouth, off Freeman’s Nob,’ 
was the reply, ‘ and heading fast away.’ 

‘We must have a look at her. Pet,’ said her father, as the girl 
climbed to his side. 

‘ Hurrah, dad ! Come along !’ she cried. ‘ It will be such fun, 
and I do long to see the Mouth ; you ’ve promised to take me 
there ever so many times.’ 

It was only the work of a few moments to re-enter the boat, 
and, propelled by seven pairs of strong arms, the craft shot straight 
as a line after the big cetacean. A stern chase proverbially is a 
long one. On this occasion the whale had a long start, and was 
going at speed. The Headman, however, as he stood up steering, 
could see that they were gaining rapidly. 

‘ There she blows again,’ he cried, ‘ not two miles ahead, and 
still making for the river !’ 

They were considerably beyond the Nob — now known as Port 
Elliot — which lies opposite the high sandhills, and protects 
Goolwa (then called ‘ The Elbow ’) from the strong southerly gales. 
A few more miles they pulled, and then the fish was seen lying 
apparently motionless on the water. 

‘ Only a “ hump-back ” after all, men,’ said Cleeve ; ‘ and now the 
beggar is off again out to sea as if he ’d seen the devil. He ’s not 
worth following, so have a spell, and then we will take a look at 
“ The Mouth,” and try for a few mullaway.’ 

Leaving the chase, probably off to the Antarctic regions, to 
pursue his journey in peace, the crew peaked their oars, and lit 
their pipes while the boat drifted gently on. Presently some Cape 
Barren geese came sailing over, high in the air. 

‘ Too far for shot,’ said the Headman ; ‘ I ’ll try the rifle.’ 

Just as he was going to fire, however, the birds came nearer, so 
he picked up the fowling-piece instead and fired, bringing down 
one goose. 

‘ Well done, dad ! That is better than the pelican you generally 
shoot. Now, let us go to the Mouth; I’ll hold the rifle, as I 
mean to have a shot at that row of long-billed fellows on the beach, 
when we get near enough. They look so very grave that I want 
to wake them up a bit.’ 

They were now almost opposite the group of huge birds stand- 
ing in solemn conclave on the shore, and in another moment the 
weapon would have been discharged, when suddenly the Head- 
man shouted : 

‘ By Heaven, a white man — no, a boy— chased by black-fellows I ’ 


PET TO THE RESCUE 


39 

It was Roland running for his life, the trackers not a hundred 
yards behind him and gaining at every stride, while the great 
river’s fearful current stretched perhaps twice that distance in front 
of him as it raced out to meet the rolling surf, and cut him off from 
what was now his only hope of safety — the boat. 

‘ O, dad,’ pleaded the girl, ‘go in and save him !’ 

The brave, open face of the strong man blanched, as he looked 
in her clear, imploring eyes filled with tears, and thought of all he 
risked ; then a look of firm resolve came into it. 

‘ Men,’ he said sternly, ‘ it must always be a dangerous thing to 
enter “ The Mouth” in an open boat — doubly so to-day with such 
a sea on, and it may cost us all our lives ; but we cannot see those 
black devils kill that boy, and do nothing to save him.’ 

A cheer was the only answer, and with powerful, regular strokes 
the boat headed true for the meeting of the waters. Skilfully 
handled, she cleared the curling waves at the moment of breaking, 
and shot half-filled with water into the churning mass of foam, 
every soul drenched to the skin, but safe from the pursuing sea. 
At the moment that she hung on the crest of the wave, the crack 
of the rifle rang out and the leading savage dropped. The others 
hesitated for a moment, and then made for the shelter of the sand- 
hills. Presently the wounded man crawled after them, and all 
three disappeared. Roland, pale, bare-headed, and with his hair 
flying in the wind, rushed on and, tumbling headlong into the 
boat, fainted away. 

Where now are the gallant crew and passengers of the ill-fated 
Mary of London ? Some, from sickness either of body or mind, 
weary not alone of the voyage but of, perchance, their own indi- 
vidual journey through life, have laid down their burdens as too 
heavy to be borne. The angry sea has swallowed others in the 
fulness of their strength. Last and saddest fate of all, when 
danger and disaster from the turbulent ocean have been sur- 
mounted, the rest have died a bloody death by the hands of man’s 
most inhuman foe, his fellow-man. All save one, the youngest of 
them all, have perished : the bold, strong leader and his stalwart 
crew ; the eager settlers, straining with natural impatience to 
reach the new home and begin the new life in this strange land ; 
and the tender women whose awful fate has been already told. 
In the annals of Australia’s colonisation there is no sadder episode 
than the wreck of the brig Mary and the massacre of her pas- 
sengers and crew. 

The sole survivor now lay in a swoon at the bottom of the whale- 
boat in the Murray Mouth, while Petrel was in very little better 
case, and the Headman and his crew were stirred considerably 
out of their usual equanimity. They had certainly rescued the 
boy, but at the imminent risk of their own lives, and they were in 
the awkward position now of being in the stream and having to 
get out again. Looking back at the wild rush of contending 
waters, it seemed marvellous how they had escaped safely through. 


40 PAVING THE WAY 

They had touched land on the Coorong side near the edge of the 
breakers, and most of the men sprang out the moment the boat 
touched after Roland had jumped in, so as to hold her against the 
swirling current. They now ran her up the shallow water at the 
river-side for some distance, then, quickly taking their seats, pulled 
rapidly to the opposite side of the stream. This was done to put 
the torrent between them and the blacks, for it was impossible to 
know how many of them might be in the neighbourhood. If in 
force and armed, they might possibly attack under cover of the 
sand-hummocks. Once on the homeward side, Cleeve felt secure, 
and had leisure to attend to his daughter as well as the boy. 
Petrel, pale as death, was alternately laughing and crying ; and 
Roland had opened his eyes in a stunned, inquiring way ; then, 
apparently satisfied that he was among friends, incontinently 
relapsed into unconsciousness again. The father took his child in 
his arms and carried her to the shade of a bush, soothing her 
with gentle, loving words. 

‘You are the bravest little woman alive,’ said he, ‘and if you 
had not shot the leading black-fellow, they would have caught the 
boy. He owes his life to you, Pet.’ 

‘ O dad,’ she sobbed, ‘ I hope I did not kill him ; but who is the 
boy? and isn’t he nice-looking?’ 

‘ He ought to be for all the trouble he has given,’ replied Cleeve, 
with a smile ; ‘ but you must dry your clothes by the fire the men 
have made. As to having killed that varmint — not you ; he was 
only hit in the leg, as one could see when he crawled away. But, 
Pet darling, it was a wonderful shot, out of a boat tossing like a 
cork in those breakers. I don’t believe there ever was such a girl.’ 

‘There never was such a dear old goose of a dad. But I do so 
want to hear who that boy is ; doesn’t he look dreadfully ill ?’ 

Meantime the men had laid Roland on the sand and given him 
a little spirits and water, which greatly revived him for a few 
moments ; then he sank into a sleep, almost a stupor, out of 
which the Headman thought it would be cruel to wake him. 

‘ We must wait. Pet, until his sleep is over before we question 
him ; but I expect there has been a wreck. How else could he 
have got on to the Ninety-Mile Beach ? We will camp here for a 
while, anyhow, so may as well dry our clothes and have some 
dinner.’ 

Hour followed hour, the wind falling to a calm as the sun 
declined, but still the boy slept on. Cleeve had thought of leav- 
ing the boat and walking along the coast to the station when the 
tide fell ; but he knew it would be a long, tiring journey for Petrel, 
and in the present condition of the lad it was quite impossible. 
Again, they might go up the river to the Elbow in the boat, so 
saving a considerable portion of the walking distance. While 
doing so, the stupor might wear off sufficiently for Roland to 
walk from there. Against that was the fact that it would be bad 
travelling, as there was no road. Of course, the boat must also be 


PET TO THE RESCUE 


41 


left if this course were adopted. Finally, after consulting with the 
others, the daring of the men prevailed, and it was determined, if 
the wind and sea continued to go down, that they should face the 
terrors of the Mouth again. This they did under much more 
favourable circumstances than before, for as evening approached 
a land breeze began to blow which further calmed down the 
already greatly reduced rollers. The boat was launched and the 
still sleeping boy laid in her. Pet taking him under her special 
protection and care. Then the word was given, and, under the 
impetus of the current and seven well-plied oars, the whale-boat 
shot down the stream almost with the velocity of an arrow from a 
bow. Held true to her course by the long steering-oar in the 
powerful grasp of the Headman, who stood erect in the stern, into 
and through the breakers she sped, and dashed out to sea as if in 
contempt of their might. As she passed the surf, a loud cheer 
rang out that roused for a moment even Roland from his trance, 
and startled the savage foes lurking among the sandbanks. 

‘Are there any left besides you?’ whispered the girl, as she 
bent over him. 

‘ None,’ he answered, and even as he fell asleep again the tears 
welled from his half-closed eyes. 


CHAPTER VIII 

A WHALE HUNT 

For twenty-four hours Roland remained in the stupor of utter 
exhaustion. When he awoke therefrom, his mind was an almost 
complete blank. Of the return to the station, the landing, and 
his being put to bed, he could recall nothing. The last thing 
that was impressed on his memory was Petrel’s shot, that rang in 
his ears again and again, with painful iteration, during his long 
sleep, if sleep it could be called. Carefully nursed, however, as 
he was by the kind people into whose hands he had so oppor- 
tunely fallen, a few days completely restored him to health. 

To the Headman he told his tale, from the time of leaving 
England to their sensational meeting at the Murray Mouth. 
There was something in the big man’s honest face that at once 
inspired the boy with confidence, and he not only acquainted him 
with the fact that the draft was sewed in the breast-pocket of his 
jacket, but begged him to keep it for him. The packet was there- 
fore opened and the contents carefully noted. The draft already 
mentioned for ^3000 and in gold was the value in money. 
There was also a long letter from Mrs. Grantley to her son, which, 
from the date, had evidently been written during the last days of 


42 


PAVING THE WAY 


her life. This Roland kept as a sacred bequest to be frequently 
read and pondered over ; and, indeed, it was destined to exercise a 
lasting influence over his future life. Last of all, in a separate 
pocket was a crumpled-up piece of paper, on which the captain of 
the brig had written, almost immediately before the massacre, the 
following lines : 

‘ The bearer of this, Roland Grantley, came as passenger with me from 
England. Father died August 20th, 183 — , mother perished on wreck. 
The boy, being fleet, may escape the death that I feel sure threatens us 
from the blacks now surrounding us. We have no arms to effectually 
defend ourselves, and most of the men and the women can only move 
slowly. Eli Larch, Master, Brig Mary. 

‘Wrecked, coast Australia, Nov. l8th, 183 — 

There it was, the last letter containing almost the last utterance 
of one of the best and bravest of England’s many unknown heroes. 
With moist eyes the Headman locked it up with the rest, knowing 
that some day it would be required, though he scarcely realised 
how. He strongly urged Roland to say nothing to any one about 
the money, as this would only excite remark ; and though the pre- 
sent men at the station would, he believed, defend rather than rob 
him, yet in such a community it was impossible to tell when the 
worst of characters might appear. Probably before very long a 
trading-vessel would put in from Port Jackson or Van Diemen’s 
Land. Certainly there would be some such means of communi- 
cation at the end of the whaling season. It might then be wise 
for Roland to visit the former place, cash the bank-draft, and 
decide on his future course ; or, if he did not care to go, he could 
write. 

‘ Till then, or as long as you like, my boy, you must stop with 
us — indeed, you can’t go anywhere else,’ exclaimed the whaler 
cordially. ‘ My little lass wants company badly — eh. Pet, don’t 
you? When I am away after condolly you won’t feel dull any 
more, little lassie.’ 

So the matter was settled, and for many months nothing of 
greater importance than the frequent chase and capture of the 
great whales occurred. Then one morning a sail was sighted, 
bearing straight into the Bay. At midday she anchored in the 
cove under the Bluff, close to the shears, a wooden stage built in 
the water, alongside which the dead whales were taken to be cut 
up and stripped of their blubber. She proved to be the Firefiy^ 
a schooner sent by the owners of the Fishery with supplies. These 
having been landed, she was to take in all the oil and whalebone 
that was ready and sail for Sydney. 

That night her master and Cleeve held a long consultation 
after the young people had gone to bed. In the morning, as 
Roland was returning from a vain attempt to catch fish for break- 
fast, the Headman met him. 

‘No luck, Roily?’ said he ; ‘perhaps we feed them too well with 


A WHALE HUNT 


43 


condolly. Never mind, sit down here ; I want to say that you can 
write now to Port Jackson by the Firefly about your affairs, but 
you had better not go yourself till the reply comes. I will put the 
letter in with mine, so that none need know anything about it, for 
it is not safe for such men as are in yonder vessel to suspect that 
you are the owner of so much money. I am not a business man, 
worse luck, so we must be careful. I hope that at the end of the 
season one of our owners, Mr. Danker, will come round. We can 
trust him.’ 

The next few days the boats did not go out, all hands being 
engaged in floating off the barrels of oil to the schooner. While 
this was going on, Roland and Petrel did most of the watching 
for whales at ‘ the look-out ’ — without success, however, till the very 
day the loading was completed, when they discovered the leviathan 
of the deep almost under the Bluff and making for the Bay. Up 
went the flag proclaiming ‘ a whale in sight.’ Roland then began 
signalling its whereabouts, but Petrel fled away down the hill like 
an arrow and met her father’s boat at the cove. He had seen her 
coming, and pulled in there for certain information. 

With a cheery ‘ Give way, my hearties ! ’ from the Headman, 
away shot the boat round the Bluff, the seven oars moving as if 
but one, and not a mile outside the surf they came in full view of 
the monster. 

‘There she spouts !’ was the cry, as the water tossed in great 
jets high into the air. Petrel had climbed the cliff again, and she 
and Roland now eagerly watched the three boats racing for the 
honour of first ‘ making fast.’ The Headman’s was the nearest, 
but the whale continued to approach the others without getting 
nearer to his. 

‘ Dad will be there first, you will see,’ cried Petrel in great 
excitement. ‘ See how he makes the stern oar bend each time 
he gives a push. Go it, dad ! go it !’ she shouted as if he could 
hear her. 

The whale had checked, apparently hearing the approach of his 
enemies ; then he turned, his great head for a moment showing 
on the surface of the water, to race out to sea. It was too late ; 
that pause was fatal, for Jack the Harpooner stood up just as the 
‘flukes’ and tail of the monster lashed the sea into foam in the 
impetus of flight. Another second and his weapon flew, sinking 
with unerring aim deep into the black exposed back ; and almost 
before the beholder could frame a thought, the line was strained 
to the rigidity of a bar of iron, and the boat was cutting through 
the water at a speed that dashed it over her sides in torrents of 
spray. Then down, down to ocean’s depths dived the frightened 
beast, until the last lengths of the line were payed out. A few 
feet more and the axe uplifted in the Harpooner’s hand ready to 
‘cut away’ would have fallen. Cool and collected as ever, the 
Headman had seen signs of the whale’s abating strength, and 
refrained from giving the signal. Presently the downward motion 


44 


HAVING THE WAY 


ceased, the line slackened, and the exhausted creature rushed to 
the surface to breathe, spouting water dyed with blood. 

‘ Haul in now,’ was the word, and the rope was rapidly coiled in 
the boat again. Off once more dashed the whale, heading almost 
directly for the Bluff, but evidently with failing strength. Another 
effort he makes to seek safety below, but in vain ; the harpoon 
has been driven home and holds well, and the rope is new and 
strong. Too exhausted to dive far, he soon reappears not many 
feet away. A few strokes of the oars, while the Headman now stands 
in the bow, lance in hand, and the boat glides near enough for 
the powerful arm to transfix the great side with the long, keen 
weapon. A loud roar as of many bulls follows, as the men ‘ back 
water’ out of danger. 

From the look-out on the Bluff, Roland and Petrel can see the 
frequent spouting of blood, tinging the sea with crimson. The 
whale, in the agony of yielding up his life, rears his immense 
‘flukes’ in the air and beats the sea with heavy blows of his tail. 
Then the other boats come up, and a few more deep lance-thrusts 
are given ; and with a final effort, half struggle, half mere dying 
shiver, called by the whalers ‘the death flurry,’ the enormous 
creature breathes his last. 

‘Well done, dad ! hurrah for dad I’ cried Petrel, in the seventh 
heaven of delight. ‘ It ’s the biggest whale this season. I daresay 
it will make forty tuns of oil.’ 

‘ Perhaps it will,’ said Roland, ‘ and a good many more than 
that of smell.’ 

The whaler’s daughter looked at the young English gentleman 
with a vast contempt ; then her sweet young face broke into a 
smile. 

‘ I am sorry for your nose,’ she said demurely, ‘ for that is a 
very big whale.’ 

‘ And so will make a very fine perfume,’ he laughed. ‘ Well, I 
am glad your father caught him, and without any accident. It 
was a sight I shall never forget. Perhaps when I am a bit bigger 
he will take me out with him.’ 

The mere aspiration seemed, in Petrel’s eyes, to make a very 
hero of him ; she, however, grew very serious. 

‘No, Roily, don’t go, it ’s very dangerous work ; the whales some- 
times smash the boats and hurt the men dreadfully. I ’ve seen two 
crews tumbled into the water, and once some of them would have 
been drowned, if dad had not got there in time.’ 

‘Yes, Pet,’ jested the lad; ‘but they never swallow people, 
anyhow, do they? I don’t think I’ll go if I am likely to be 
gobbled up — even with the chance of being sicked up again like 
Jonah.’ 

But Petrel had scarcely waited to hear the last words. She was 
off down the hill to meet the boats at the shears, with the whale 
in tow. 

That night, after the capture had been secured preparatory to 


A WHALE HUNT 


45 


the cutting-up process next morning, the letter about Roland to 
the Port Jackson banker was written, for it was arranged that the 
schooner should sail in the morning. A brief detail was given of 
the shipwreck, with the names of the captain and chief officer, 
and a copy of the draft. To these Cleeve added a short account 
of the escape of the lad, together with a statement that he had in 
his possession papers that undoubtedly identified him. He con- 
cluded by asking the banker to advise what would be the best 
course for the boy to adopt, not only to obtain the amount due, 
but with regard to his future course. All this was a considerable 
labour to the Headman. 

‘ I ’d rather kill a whale than write a letter any day,’ said he. 
‘The harpoon suits my hand better than a pen.’ 

‘ The whales don’t think so,’ interrupted his daughter, with a 
merry laugh. 

‘ Get thee to bed now, lass ; I must be up at peep of day to cut 
up that big fellow lying out there before the sharks eat him up.’ 

The following morning the schooner sailed early, leaving the 
little community to its usual pursuits and resources. The boats’ 
crews regularly went out to the various stations ; ‘ the look-out ’ 
was daily kept on the headland, frequently by Roland and Petrel, 
either separately or together. Every day of their lives they 
became closer companions, as they fished or watched for the huge 
monsters whose favourite haunt appeared to be the bay the noble 
cliff overlooked. Gradually the cold, stormy weather passed 
away, the days grew perceptibly longer, and the whales became 
fewer. One evening, after more than a week without seeing a 
whale, Cleeve observed — 

‘ It will soon be over for the season, but we cannot growl or the 
owners either. Nearly everything we have is full of oil, and there 
is a splendid lot of whalebone. I expect a ship to show up before 
long, when I will pay off the men. Then, Roily, you will perhaps 
hear from the banker, and may have to go to Botany Bay to seek 
your fortune.’ 

‘ Roily says he is coming back here, dad,’ said Petrel, with a 
very serious face. 

‘So, young people, you have been fixing it up already ?’ laughed 
the giant. ‘Well, we must see what the man of money says. It 
may be he will want Roily to go back to England to his friends.’ 

‘ That ’s not likely,’ replied the boy ; ‘ they are more likely to 
wish me to remain in New South Wales. You know my father 
intended settling there ; but I mean to return here, or perhaps to 
the new settlement the captain of the Firefly said was to be formed 
on St. Vincent’s Gulf.’ 

‘ All right. Roily ; you wait and hear what your friends in Sydney 
say first, and then make up your mind.’ 

In due course the expected ship did arrive, and took away the 
whole of the produce of the season ; but the owner Cleeve hoped 
to see was not on board, nor were there any letters for Roland 


PAVING THE WAY 


46 

from the Sydney banker. This did not surprise the Headman, 
communication in those days being necessarily slow and the 
opportunities of intercourse few. 

So time passed on ; another whaling season had come and 
gone, and with these hospitable people young Grantley had lived 
for more than two years. The slight boy, small for his age, had 
grown up a strong young man. He was not tall, indeed, but his 
wiry, well-knit form, inured by continual open-air exercise to all 
kinds of exertion, gave evidence of strength and endurance. The 
soft, dreamy eyes of boyhood now glowed with buoyant, youthful 
pride and fire ; and the quick, elastic step proclaimed the energy 
latent in dawning manhood. 

Active, daring, and enterprising, what do such as he require but 
a fitting field for the development of their talents? and that, 
surely, broad Australia supplied to every ardent searcher. It was 
now that his mother’s letter became specially impressed upon his 
mind. It ran as follows : — 


‘ Brig Mary, 

* My dearest Son, — Something tells me I shall never live to reach 
Australia, and that you will be left alone, a stranger in a strange land — 
you, a mere child in years and experience. O, what a fate for the scion 
of one of the oldest families in England! Since your father’s death I 
have never ceased to think of this and what I can do to guide you. I am 
but a poor weak woman who, with all a mother’s love for her boy, is ill 
qualified to grapple with such a task, and the responsibility is killing me. 

‘ You know I once hoped you would inherit the Grantley estates and 
title. It has been the desire of my life, and even now I cling to it, 
though the prospect appears so remote. Between you and the estates 
there may, however, be only one frail life ; for if Sir Archibald’s son dies, 
I believe he may prefer to break the entail, if possible, and make you his 
heir rather than either of his other nephews. Never forget this, my boy, 
and that you are a Grantley, and on your mother’s side, too, allied to an 
ancient race, and that you may be called upon some day to occupy the 
proud position your ancestors gloriously filled in their day. If not, and 
you remain a private gentleman, remember your high* birth and blood, 
and hold yourself free from all taint. Without a penny you are equal to 
the highest in the land ; among them only seek your mate. As you love 
me, Roland, do not marry out of your own caste, or any one that I should 
not welcome as a daughter. O, my son, you will be thrown among 
people scarcely a family of whom is free from the foul stigma of low 
crime. Their daughters will be fair in your young eyes ; but beware, 
beware : do not ruin your prospects by joining your grand old name and 
race in a vile alliance with a convict’s child. I foresee your peril, yet 
know not how to guard you except by my solemn warning and appeals to 
that pride which is inherent in you and which I have striven to strengthen. 
Look upon these as my dying words and injunctions. You will make a 
name in the new' land, even if you are never called upon to sit where your 
fathers sat in Grantley Hall. Leave it unsullied by connection with what 
is vulgar and dishonourable. That God may bless and keep you is the 
prayer of your loving mother, Margaret Grantley,’ 


OVERLANDING 


47 


CHAPTER IX 

OVERLANDING 

With all sails set before a fair wind, she came round the Bluff 
right into the cove, and dropped anchor close to the shears. 
There was no doubt about it, those on board knew where they 
were coming, or else the brig did herself. 

‘ The Lochbar with the owners on board,’ pronounced Cleeve at 
once, and away he went in his whale-boat, the seven oars driving 
her at her best pace ; curving round the rocks lining the shore 
they went, keeping perfect time, the long craft looking graceful 
as a swan as she bounded over the rollers. Then she rounded to 
and shot alongside the vessel, and the Headman’s tall form could 
be seen to step on board. Petrel sat down on a rock, looking 
disconsolately at the brig, while Roland stood over her not much 
happier, judging from his face. 

‘ I am quite sure you will be going away in that horrid ship, 
and perhaps won’t come back any more !’ 

‘ I don’t want to go. Pet, at all, only your father thinks I ought ; 
but I shall hurry back as soon as possible.’ 

‘ How can you hurry,’ said she in lugubrious tones, ‘ when 
scarcely any ships ever come here ? ’ and the tears began to flow. 
‘You will soon forget all about me — about all of us — with your 
fine friends.’ 

The youth tried to console her, but, truth to tell, he felt ready to 
cry himself, and had to exercise great self-control to prevent his 
feelings getting the better of him. However, they managed, as 
they wandered about together, to comfort each other somehow, 
so that, when they returned to the station and found several 
visitors with Cleeve, they were able to meet them quite cheer- 
fully. One was a stout, fair-haired man with a pleasant face and 
genial smile. He met Petrel at the door. 

‘ Well, my little seabird, I ’ve brought you all sorts of nice 
things ; but you have become such a woman, I ’m afraid you will 
think yourself too grown-up for them. And this is your young 
friend from the wreck of the Mary, who is going to Sydney with 
us, Mr. Cleeve says?’ said he, shaking hands kindly with Roland. 
‘ Well,’ he added with a merry twinkle, ‘ I will promise to take 
great care of him for your sake, and return him safe and sound.’ 

Roland at once felt that he had found a friend in the genial 
gentleman, though his heart still sank at the thought of leaving. 

‘A number of us are going,’ added his new friend, ‘to New 
South Wales with the intention of bringing cattle over to South 
Australia to form runs in the country round about here, where 


48 


PAVING THE WAY 


the future capital of the colony is to be. Mr. Cleeve thinks it will 
be a good chance for you to join us. We want some more young 
fellows; but we will talk later with you on the subject. Now, 
Petrel, here are my odds and ends for you : I want to see how you 
like them.’ 

And not giving Grantley time to thank him, Mr. Danker 
devoted himself to the delighted Petrel. There were three other 
men to whom Roland was now introduced. One, a tall, middle- 
aged man, was part-owner of the Fishery. The others were only 
a few years older than himself, both rather over the average 
height, agreeable and bright in manner. ‘ My name is James 
Enfield,’ said the elder, ‘and this is my chum, Floss Gifford. We 
have heard your story, and as we are not long arrived from the 
old country we feel quite friends already, as fellow-countrymen 
often do when they meet in a strange land, and shall be delighted 
if you will come with us to Sydney, or Botany Bay, as we some- 
how nearly always call it.’ 

‘ We are going to bring a tent on shore,’ said Gifford, ‘ to camp 
in while the brig is loading her cargo, with a view of examining 
the country to find the best land to bring our cattle to. In this 
you can be of much use to us, as you must know a great deal 
about it from living here so long.’ 

This was the very chance Roland wanted, and his heart 
bounded at the thought that he, too, might bring over cattle and 
become a squatter, quite close to Petrel. Quite suddenly his 
future course seemed to have become clear to him. 

In due course the tent was neatly pitched at a short distance 
among the sandhills of the beach, and Petrel felt half deserted, 
for her old companion spent much of his time with his new 
friends, exploring the country in every direction. Laughingly, 
though half in earnest, they divided it out amongst themselves. 

‘ Anyhow, there is plenty for all of us,’ they told Petrel, ‘and 
Roland is to have first choice, as he is the discoverer.’ 

‘ I know he will take the block round here,’ added Floss, 
‘because he says he will be able to supply the whaling-station 
with beef, but I believe he wants you to help him.’ 

‘ Oh, nonsense ! ’ said Petrel, with a conscious blush ; ‘ I ’ve 
enough to do to look after dad.’ 

‘ Quite right, my little woman ; have nothing to do with the 
young fellows— stick to the old man,’ interjected the Headman. 
‘The Lochbar sails in two days, my lads ; so it is well that you 
have picked out your runs.’ 

‘Yes, it’s all settled,’ replied Enfield; ‘we find that there is 
really good country about here, and we have quite decided, if we 
make a successful journey, to bring the stock down the Murray 
here.’ 

‘Well, I like the plan,’ answered Cleeve, ‘particularly for 
Roland. I am told there will be opposition fisheries next sea- 
son, and more meat will be required, and you should be able to 


OVERLANDING 


49 


supply it. Now, my little girl, we will go home, as I want a long 
talk with Roily.’ 

This conversation occurred at the tent, where the visitors were 
entertaining Cleeve, Petrel, and Roland at tea. 

Bidding their new friends a cordial good-night, the others 
turned homeward, and as they walked the Headman acquainted 
Grantley with the arrangement Mr. Danker was prepared to make 
with him on behalf of himself and his two young friends. Roland 
was to put an equal amount with each of the others into a common 
fund in Sydney for the purchase of stock ; they were to pay equal 
shares of all expenses, and each to do his share of the droving and 
other work in bringing the cattle over to South Australia, and on 
arrival to divide them fairly, one-fourth to each individual. ‘ Mr. 
Danker says,’ he continued, ‘ that he thinks they are treating you 
liberally in taking you in on equal terms, now that all arrange- 
ments are completed; but he has taken a fancy to you, and is 
certain that you are made of the right stuff for the undertaking. 
A letter has just been brought from Adelaide, as the new settle- 
ment is called, by a black fellow, for Mr. Danker, from the Sydney 
banker whom he knows, enclosing one for you. The banker tells 
him to take you over to him, as he has important news for you. 
There is no doubt you will get your money all right, and be able 
to make a good start with these men.’ 

With tears in his eyes, Roland could only murmur his thanks 
to the kind-hearted Headman. 

‘ I shall never forget your kindness,’ he said ; ‘ what should I 
have done but for you ?’ 

‘ We have been very glad to have him, eh. Pet ? and shall be 
as glad to see him back again with a herd of cattle all his own, 
and riding a fine horse. We will go to meet him, little woman,’ 
cried the big man, picking her up in his great arms, to put an end 
to a 'scene during which a lump was rising in his own throat. In 
his big-hearted guilelessness, did it not strike the father what was 
growing— that his Pet’s heart was no longer all his own ? Young, 
sensitive, and innocent as she was, it was but natural that these 
two young lives that had been so strangely and so long thrown 
together should feel a mutual affinity which would grow stronger, 
on her side at least, when her hero was far away. But her father 
suspected nothing ; and half-woman, half-child as she was, she 
herself scarcely understood the new-born feeling. 

. In after years the fond father often reproached himself with 
blindness ; but how could he know, how can parents ever know, 
when the actors in this world-old tragi-comedy themselves scarcely 
realise the true state of their feelings till it is too late to pre- 
vent it ? 

All the passengers had to be on board before dark, as the 
master intended sailing during the evening. The Headman had 
his boat ready to take off Mr. Danker and Roland, the others 
having gone earlier. Auntie was outside looking at her goats, 

D 


HAVING THE WAY 


So 

when Grantley went into the cottage to say good-bye to Petrel. 
She was very silent, as he kissed her and turned to go. 

‘ O Roily, what ever am I to do without you ? But I am not going 
to cry, but shall look forward to meeting you again.’ 

Then ‘Auntie’ came in and heartily bade him ‘God speed,’ 
telling him to grow big and tall ‘ like — like a man ought to do,’ 
the latter part of the sentence being gulped out with a quick jerk, 
and then she joined Petrel in copious weeping. Then there came 
a peremptory hail from the boat, to cut short the parting scene ; 
so with a fervent embrace our young friend hurried away, leaving 
them both in tears. He could see a little white pocket-handker- 
chief waving a final farewell at the door of the hut, until the brig 
passed round the Bluff. 

We will not linger over the voyage. The wind was fair, the 
weather fine, and in ten days the Lochbar entered that unrivalled 
scene of beauty, Sydney Harbour. The following morning Mr. 
Danker accompanied Roland to the bank with the necessary 
documents. The draft was at once pronounced to be good, and 
the banker said the cash would be at once placed to the credit 
of Mr. Grantley. 

‘ Your aunt and sisters have been writing me respecting you,’ 
said the banker, ‘ and I shall be glad to give them such excellent 
accounts of your health and prospects. The family lawyer has 
also communicated with me respecting your father’s property. 
Everything is in training, but you had better come with me to 
the agent here, Mr. Carter, to expedite matters.’ 

For some days much of Roland’s time and attention were oc- 
cupied in such iDusiness, and in writing to his sisters in reference 
to family affairs and their future movements. By the advice of 
the banker he appointed Mr. Carter, the attorney, to act for him 
in winding-up all business matters under his father’s will, and to 
communicate with him, as occasion required, by letter. 

Meantime Mr. Danker had arranged for the purchase of a 
thousand head of mixed cattle near Queanbeyan on favourable 
terms. As the herd was undoubtedly one of the best in New 
South Wales, there was little question that they would be ap- 
proved of when inspected ; and delivery was certain to be quickly 
made and the transaction completed to the satisfaction of all 
parties. 

‘ The owners, Messrs. Roby and Broon, are first-class business 
men,’ said their agent, Mr. Tilus, ‘ and will put the thousand head 
together before you can say “Jack Robinson.”’ ‘They can’t be 
too expeditious when we are once on the run, and we won’t be 
behind time,’ replied Mr. Danker — ‘you may assure them of that.’ 

Nothing remained to do but obtain the necessary outfit. A 
number of riding animals of the stock-horse kind, a couple of 
not too heavy draught horses, and a spring-cart, were picked up 
at various sale-yards, after several days had been spent in bar- 
gaining and trying. The unanimously appointed leader of the 


OVERLANDING 


5 * 

expedition, Mr. Danker, was in his proper element when buying 
or selling slock of all kinds, but particularly horses ; and on this 
occasion the whole of the responsibility rested upon him, as his 
young companions were inexperienced in the art that pertains 
to dealing in horse-flesh. 

‘Though it may look like blowing my own trumpet, which, 
allow me to observe, is foreign to my retiring disposition,’ observed 
that gentleman, as he cast a critical, approving eye over the 
animals and vehicle before him, ‘ I consider that outfit about 
perfect, bearing in mind what we had to select from.’ 

Supplies of stores and cooking utensils were obtained for the 
journey. Last of all, much care was bestowed in purchasing suit- 
able fire-arms and ammunition, as the safety of the party might 
depend on their means of defence against the blacks, who were 
known to be numerous on some parts of the route. They hoped 
also thus to be able to provide the expedition with game, and so 
eke out the provisions taken with them. ‘We won’t buy the 
bullock-team till we reach Goulburn,’ said Mr. Danker, ‘or engage 
men ; we shall probably find more experienced bushmen there, 
recommended by known employers.’ 

This was agreed to, and, all business being completed in 
Sydney, one bright morning the party in the highest spirits 
began their long journey of a thousand miles, nearly all the 
way through unknown country. On arriving at the rising town- 
ship of Goulburn, they were fortunate in quickly finding a fine 
team of bullocks and a strong dray as good as new at a reason- 
able price. The driver was also willing to join the party, and was 
recommended as a most efficient bush-man. 

‘ In fact, you can’t put him wrong,’ said the auctioneer ; ‘ his only 
fault is the bottle, and I expect there are not many grog-shops on 
the track you are taking.’ ‘ Not a drop of liquor from the day we 
leave your settlements till we reach the other side ; and we take 
none with us,’ answered Mr. Danker. 

‘ He’s your man, then ; only, don’t ask him any questions as to 
who or what he is, and he will perform his part of the contract, if 
it is to drive that team to kingdom come. “ Tom the bullock- 
puncher ” is his name ; take my advice and leave it at that. He 
doesn’t want any agreement, and wouldn’t sign one.’ 

Tom was a big but wiry fellow, with a round, stolid face. 
When asked if he would form one of the party, he readily assented, 
after giving one deliberate glance at its different members. 

‘ It’s not a pleasure-trip, gents,’ he remarked ; ‘but I suppose 
you know all that, and where you go the teams shall follow, as 
long as you find me in bullock-hide.’ This was evidently a big 
conversational effort for the Puncher, as nothing more was heard 
from him in reference to the subject. He immediately devoted 
his entire attention to a complete overhaul of the dray and ap- 
pointments ; nothing escaped his notice, and it was obvious that 
in Tom the expedition had a man who thoroughly understood his 


PAVING THE WAY 


5 ^ 

work and meant to do it. Full supplies having been laid in, the 
party proceeded to Goondabool, where they found preparations 
were being made for mustering the cattle. Those were the days 
when entire herds were collected into large receiving-yards, and 
then passed through series of smaller pens to divide them as 
required. Later this dangerous, laborious, and often cruel system 
was generally abandoned for ‘ cutting out ’ with trained horses on 
open camps, a much safer and quicker way, and also less injurious 
to the cattle. 

At Goondabool putting the thousand head of grown cattle to- 
gether was a slow process, and nearly a month elapsed before the 
final delivery was made. Then fairly commenced the long, tedious 
journey, when the mob had to be grazed slowly along some eight 
to ten miles a day, and watched during the night. The river 
Murrumbidgee was struck at Gundagai, and followed to its junc- 
tion with the Lachlan, where they were compelled to branch off, 
so as to cross the latter river above the wide delta of swamps at 
its mouth. 

Thus far the trip had been most successful and even enjoyable. 
The season was good, and the winding banks of the beautiful 
river, which was in moderate flood, were covered with splendid 
grass and luxuriant verdure. The magnificent timber-trees which 
fringed the banks were a perpetual delight to the travellers, as 
they lounged under them during the long midday camps, when 
the days were too hot for the herd to move along. Of natives 
little had been seen, and they seemed to be keeping out of sight 
of the party. At first the country was fairly wooded, part of it 
even densely so ; but further on immense plains stretched down to 
the river from the far horizon. 

On the bank of the Lachlan they were confronted with their 
first real difficulty. They had to cross the river without a boat, 
and the supplies must be got over dry. The cart had the wheels 
and shafts taken off, and a couple of kegs lashed outside to prevent 
its sinking, thus forming a kind of punt, that answered the purpose 
fairly well. Several of the men were good swimmers, and they 
soon had a rope stretched across by which the punt, loaded with 
stores, was easily passed backwards and forwards, until all was 
got over. The cattle gave little trouble, the stream being narrow 
and the weather warm. A few were cut off from the mob, and 
kept until the working bullocks were forced over ; they were then 
brought up, and immediately followed. Indeed, it rarely happens 
that, once started, there is any trouble, if the drovers understand 
their business. On this occasion the whole thousand head took 
to the water in rapid succession, and to a beast were landed on 
the opposite bank in safety. Swimming the horses was an easy 
matter, and lastly came the bullock-dray. With that, as soon as 
it was discovered that the bed of the river at the crossing-place 
was free from logs, little trouble was taken. A rope made fast 
to the axle was carried over the stream, the bullock-team was 


OVERLANDING 53 

attached to this, and the ponderous vehicle dragged across in a 
few minutes. 

During the whole of this difficult and, to most of the party, 
novel experience, Tom the Puncher had been of the greatest ser- 
vice. Nothing appeared strange to him : crossing cattle, horses, 
drays, or stores were matters with which he was evidently quite 
familiar. 

‘ Well, Tom,’ said Mr. Danker, when the work was over that 
night, ‘ I am an old whaler myself, and fancy that I have had a 
diversified experience of bush life into the bargain, but I never 
met a man better up to his work than you.’ 

‘ Ay, sir, the Lachlan is not the first river I have crossed,’ and 
the Puncher turned away to do something, as if he thought enough 
had been said. 

This . reticence was habitual with the man ; his knowledge was 
always at the service of his employers, but he never dropped a 
hint how or where it had been acquired. No doubt he could have 
told a tale of crime, oppression, wrong, and hardship, committed 
or endured at the expense of all that rendered life bright and 
happy. Like many of his kind, his was a past that would bear no 
retrospection. 


CHAPTER X 

A BRUSH WITH THE BLACKS 

Hitherto scarcely a black had been seen, but on approaching 
the junction of the Murrumbidgee with the Murray many signs of 
their presence were observed, rather disquieting to the leader, who 
now impressed upon his party the importance of great caution. 
No hostilities, however, were attempted for some days, and the 
expedition at length reached the Murray, which, like the other 
rivers they had passed, was in half-flood. 

‘ I am afraid we are going to have trouble with these black 
devils before long,’ observed Mr. Danker anxiously one morning. 
‘ Look at the different smokes in front and behind us.’ 

Just then Roland rode up to report that some spears had been 
thrown out of a thicket at a passing heifer, as the cattle were 
trailing on to the plain they were camped near. They would not 
have been noticed had it not been for the rush of the herd. On 
riding quickly up with a stockman to ascertain what was the 
matter, three or four black fellows ran for the river and plunged 
in. The cow was wounded in three places, one spear still sticking 
in her. 

‘An ugly tale, too, my boy,’ answered Danker, ‘as it is probably 


PAVING THE WAY 


54 

the beginning of worse attempts ; but come along, we will see what 
can be done, and get the spear out of the heifer anyhow.’ 

This was comparatively easy ; and, as none of the injuries were 
likely to kill the animal, the matter was not serious except as an 
indication of what might be expected. 

‘ She is worth a good many dead ones yet,’ said Enfield, who 
was a bit of a vet., ‘ and if the beggars can’t hit harder than that, 
and will only pick out those with thick hides, we shall do.’ 

‘ We must keep not only ourselves but the mob out of the 
timber as much as possible,’ rejoined the leader ; ‘ luckily, there are 
plenty of plains here, and I believe they continue a long way.’ 

‘ Sturt in his Journal says the blacks are numerous about the 
Darling junction,’ observed Floss quietly. ‘We had better be 
prepared to fight, don’t you think, boss.?’ 

‘ Not a shadow of a doubt about that,’ said Danker ; ‘ but let us 
do all we can to avoid it by keeping the black dogs at a distance. 
I don’t want to kill any of them ; but when it comes to a question 
of going under myself, or even losing our property, I ’ll shoot as 
often and as straight as I can.’ 

‘ And what about our going under ? that does not appear to enter 
into your calculations,’ plaintively inquired Floss. 

A laugh followed this sally. 

‘ You will take care of your own skin, I fancy,’ retorted the 
other, ‘ as doubtless we all shall, and of each other as well ; and 
to do this the easier we must keep the whole party, with cattle, 
horses, and drays, as close together as possible, and in open 
country. The darkies will never attack us without cover, or if 
they do they will repent it.’ 

After this, great care and watchfulness were exercised until they 
arrived on the Darling, which was then running nearly level with 
its banks — a broad, strong river that the first glance showed would 
take some crossing. There was a nearly clear open space right 
on the spot where they proposed passing over, and here the camp 
was formed, the leader feeling satisfied with the safety of the 
position. That night it was arranged that the stock should the 
next day feed back on the plain, while, with the cart again meta- 
morphosed into a boat, some of the party should transport the 
heavy articles and stores, after the dray had been floated across 
by attaching the kegs to it. 

The night passed tranquilly, and when breakfast was finished 
preparations were at once begun for crossing. 

‘ The first thing to be done is for you crack swimmers to amuse 
yourselves and have a prolonged bath at the same time by getting 
a rope over,’ said Mr. Danker. ‘This stream is not a mere 
Lachlan ; so, that there may be no bother, we will make the end 
fast to this keg and swing it in for you to push before you.’ 

This was quickly done, though the strong current forced them 
a good bit down stream. After this, the work of transporting 
went on merrily, and early in the evening they were ready for the 


A BRUSH WITH THE BLACKS 


55 

cattle ; as, however, they could not depend on their taking so 
formidable a stream without much trouble, it was decided to defer 
the attempt until the following morning, when the whole day 
would be before them. 

While riding out in the evening to bring the cattle into camp, 
Roland and Floss noticed how many trees had sheets of bark 
stripped off recently, evidently for canoes. 

‘And, by Jove, there they are !’ exclaimed the latter, ‘on the 
other side of the river, coming round the bend, three of them full 
of black fellows.’ 

It was obvious the whites were also seen, for there was a con- 
siderable commotion among the natives, and much brandishing of 
weapons, combined with hostile gestures. 

‘ I believe they are all men,’ said Roland ; ‘ that means war, 
doesn’t it, Floss ?’ 

‘That’s about the interpretation we must put upon these de- 
monstrations, if all the tales told of the beggars are true. Hope they 
will let us cross the Darling, anyhow. It would not be pleasant 
to have them buzzing around when the cattle are just heading 
well over. See the enemy. Danker?’ he added, as that worthy 
rode up ; ‘there they go gaily down the broad bosom of the 
Murray after hurling defiance at us.’ 

The face of the elder man grew serious as he watched the 
savages disappear round a point. 

‘I don’t like the aspect of things,’ he answered reflectively ; ‘it 
seems as if they were collecting to oppose us lower down. Let 
us put the mob in camp though it is a bit early, and make all 
snug for the night. Two hands will have to sleep over the river 
with the goods already crossed, as a guard in case of attempted 
thieving, though they are hardly likely to try that.’ 

He was right. Morning broke without any disturbance occur- 
ring. No time was now lost in sending the remainder of the 
equipage over the river. Then the cart-horses and spare riding- 
hacks were swum across and a stockman sent to keep the leading 
cattle in check as they landed. The herd had been kept in 
readiness, and was now drawn up towards the stream with the 
working bullocks a little in advance. At a given word they were 
put at the water and forced in by cracking whips and cutting at 
them. At first they circled round trying hard to return in spite 
of the rain of blows ; then one made for the opposite bank, and 
the others followed. At a run the leading cattle were brought up 
and rushed at the river by every available horseman. Bravo ! 
the leaders see the workers just landing and take it splendidly, 
and presently there is a forest of horns from side to side of the 
broad Darling. 

When cattle once take to a stream, a little attention will keep 
them going until the whole are over ; all that is required is to 
keep the living string unbroken by urging on the tail, each horse- 
pian closing in upon the last beasts and forcing them forward. 


PAVING THE WAY 


56 

As the last reluctant stragglers were compelled to follow the rest, 
the members of the party, with smiling faces, congratulated them- 
selves on the successful passage of the big river, as they well 
might, for it was no slight undertaking for men who had seen 
little of this kind of work before. 

‘We are not quite out of the wood, or rather over the water, yet,’ 
said Danker, ‘as we have the Anabranch still in front, but I 
expect we shall be able to ford that. It’s only ten or twenty 
miles away, so we will load up and crawl on a short distance to- 
day, and probably reach it to-morrow.’ 

Being still apprehensive of the natives, when they moved for- 
ward they kept as much as possible out of the timber lining the 
river and in the open country. The next day a belt of trees 
could be distinguished, apparently fringing a stream directly 
before them and flowing into the Murray. 

‘ Ride on. Floss,’ said Enfield, ‘ and tell us what it means, and 
look out that the noble savage does not deprive us of your in- 
valuable services.’ 

‘ I ’ll be wily as the warrior of these wilds himself, and not 
alone out of consideration for your feelings,’ replied Gifford as he 
rode off. 

In an hour he returned to report a broad river three miles in 
front, obviously too deep to ford. 

‘There is a good deal of timber, box and gum, growing in it,* 
said he, ‘ showing that it is high now, as they must be out of the 
water sometimes. Two canoes are on the other side ; I did not 
see the owners, but they might be close by, as there are plenty of 
bushes to skulk in.’ 

‘ Our scout brings back a disquieting tale. Roily ; a big river to 
cross, defended by aboriginal men-of-war. Perhaps it is only a 
backwater.’ 

‘No,’ said Floss, ‘there is too strong a current for that; you 
may depend on it, we shall have to swim it, niggers in front or 
not.’ 

‘Well, it’s the last, if explorers are to be relied upon,’ observed 
Roland ; ‘ that ’s one comfort.’ 

‘I agree with you. Roily,’ replied Enfield; ‘my ideal droving 
is along a track following a river whose bends form natural 
camps, where one can dispense with watching — not this perpetual 
swimming of raging torrents. I ’m sure the cattle are of the same 
opinion ; they have only just settled down after the Darling, and 
now here is Gifford’s Mississippi or something equally formidable 
to ford.’ 

‘ There is the camp under those trees,’ answered Roland ; ‘ the 
teams are turned out, so we shall go no further to-night.’ 

‘ Then I ’ll leave you fellows to yourselves for a bit and report 
to the chief,’ said Floss ; ‘ possibly he may wish to go on and look 
out for a crossing.’ 

‘And I hope he may find one not more than three feet deep. 


A BRUSH WITH THE BLACKS 


57 

with no native war- vessels or warriors to molest peaceful pioneers,* 
said Enfield as he went off. ‘ Like yours, Roily my boy, my 
experience of the niggers is not a pleasant one. They are very 
useful when got well under ; but while that process is going on, 
the Lord deliver me out of their hands. And, as a matter of fact, 
that process of getting them well under is going on fast. Look 
at Van Diemen’s Land and New South Wales ; even at Port 
Philip they are being taught the same lesson, and I believe the 
poor devils are instinctively conscious of what they have to 
expect all over the country. We are a fine go-ahead people, no 
doubt — too go-ahead for such as these to come in contact with 
and hope to survive.’ 

‘ I shan’t forget that scene on the Coorong very soon,’ replied 
Roland ; ‘ we had done them no harm, yet see how they treated 
us.’ 

‘ Even so,’ said the other sadly ; ‘ and it always will be so where 
we enter savage peoples’ territory. However, I don’t vvondef 
that you feel a bit bloodthirsty. We will gather the mob into 
camp, and hope that we may never be obliged to take an active 
part in the getting-under process. I’d prefer leaving that to 
others, if possible.’ 

Grantley did not pursue the subject ; but he thought of his 
friend the captain and the people of the Mary, and the possibility 
crossed his mind that some day he might be thrown in contact 
with that tribe. If so, he would like them to recognise him, that 
they might know who wreaked a fitting vengeance. 

Mr. Danker had gone to examine the stream ahead with Floss, 
as the latter had expected. After following it up for some dis- 
tance, he, too, came to the conclusion that no ford existed. 

‘There’s nothing for it but swimming as we did with the 
others,’ he said on their return. ‘ There ’s a lot of nasty floating 
weeds in some places, thick enough to drown anything from man 
to bullock that gets entangled in it. These we must try to clear 
away. We noticed it by wading across a backwater, and our 
horses could hardly push their way through. In deep water they 
would have drowned.’ 

‘ We will clear our path with our splendkl specimen of marine 
architecture,’ observed Enfield ; ‘ the punt is admirably adapted 
not to glide through such impediments ; she will either stay with 
it or drag all after, according to the amount of power we can 
apply.’ 

Before noon next day they arrived at the Anabranch, where it 
was at once obvious that they could not do more than cross the 
stores and dray, leaving the cattle until the following morning. 
The middle of the stream where the current ran was clear, but on 
either side a mass of a kind of rope-weed floated on the surface 
of the water, the tendrils of which were many feet long and 
extremely strong. A few experiments proved that without great 
risk of drowning many they could not swim the cattle over until 


PAVING THE WAY 


58 

it was cleared away. The cart, again made into a punt, was the 
only means of removing the obstacle, and by its use a sufficient 
passage was opened for swimming the herd across. The whole 
of the day was occupied in this manner, but as evening approached 
everything was in readiness for pushing across the next morning. 
Several fires had been observed some miles down the river, and 
the forms of a few blacks were occasionally seen, apparently 
watching from a distance what was going on. 

‘ We shall certainly have a brush with these gentry yet,’ said 
Mr. Danker. ‘ I shall not be surprised if it is before we get out 
of this place.’ 

The words had scarcely left his lips when the cattle were seen 
madly rushing back down stream. 

‘ Maybe only the ordinary fright at a bird,’ observed Floss, 
when suddenly a pistol-shot rang out, followed by another and 
yet another. The leader sprang on his horse. 

‘ Come with me, Gifford ; you fellows be on the watch here,’ he 
shouted as he galloped off in the direction of the reports. 

A few moments brought him to Enfield, Roland, and a stockman, 
sitting on their horses looking at a cow with some half-dozen 
spears sticking deeply in her side. 

‘Gifford, you and Jem steady the herd ; the brutes will run to 
the Darling if they’re not stopped. Now, Enfield, how did this 
happen ?’ 

‘The outer wing,’ answered Enfield coolly, ‘had just drawn 
down to drink through these ’lignum bushes, when back they 
came at a tearing pace. We all galloped up, and were met by 
a score of spears and boomerangs, thrown by as many black 
demons. Roily had a spear through his shirt, Jem got a clip 
from a waddy on the shoulder, and a boomerang took my hat off ; 
thank heaven it wasn’t my head ! Worst of all, a spear entered 
my horse’s thigh. We all blazed away, and one blackbird was 
winged, if not more. They did not stop for another volley, but 
took to the water like so many ducks.’ 

The cow was now dead, and Mr. Danker dismounted and drew 
the spears from her. F our were formidable barbed weapons quite 
eight feet long. 

‘ If I had the choice, I would rather have a bayonet in me than 
that,’ said Enfield ; ‘it’s emphatically a barbarous-looking instru- 
ment, enough to make any civilised fighter shudder.’ 

‘I hope you will never have either,’ replied the chief. ‘It’s 
bad enough to see our property subjected to such devils’ tools. 
Perhaps it is as well she did get them, or some of you might. 
Again I say, you cannot be too careful, particularly when entering 
scrub.’ 

Paul Danker rode back to the camp, musing deeply ; and, after 
relating what had happened, he added — 

‘ There is no doubt we must exercise much care, or we shall 
experience trouble with these black wretches. The fire-arms ha4 


A BRUSH WITH THE BLACKS 


59 

better be kept loaded and ready to hand, both when travelling 
and camping. As soon as we are over this river we will make 
long stages until we are through the dangerous country. In a 
hundred miles, or perhaps fifty, we can leave this tribe behind.’ 

‘ Lend me the big duck-gun, boss,’ said the Puncher. ‘ I ’ll 
cairy it convenient on the dray, and give a good account of them 
if necessary.’ 

‘ Right, Tom, I don’t doubt you ; load it with buckshot, and, if 
they seem to mean mischief, fire when they are seventy or eighty 
yards off; there’s nothing like peppering them with shot; it’s 
more effective than ball and more merciful too, and God knows I 
don’t want the lives of any of them.’ 

Everything was carefully arranged for the night, all bushes 
being cut down so as to leave no cover under shelter of which 
the camp could be approached. As an additional precaution, all 
hands were to be called before daylight, as that is the time the 
Australian aborigine generally chooses to make his most serious 
attacks. 

Next morning, when discussing this, Mr. Danker said — 

‘ They may set on us at any hour, as a good deal depends upon 
our position. If there is a gorge or thickly wooded place through 
which we are obliged to pass, they will probably wait till we reach 
it. If they can’t catch us in that way, I expect they will attack at 
peep of daylight. So, for a while, we will have a double number 
of men on watch, and all hands must sleep in their clothes.’ 

The cattle were allowed to draw back on to the plain to feed 
while the stores were passed over. Then they were brought up 
in the same way as at the Darling, the working bullocks leading. 
At first all went excellently ; then there was an unaccountable 
check, and when in mid-stream those in front turned back, with 
the result that they became a circling, whirling ring of struggling 
brutes, those in the centre being forced under water by those on 
the outside climbing on them. There was nothing for it but to 
prevent others entering and try and break the ring. Presently it 
did separate ; a few went over to the opposite side, the greater 
number returned to the main mob, while half-drowned animals 
kept bobbing up and down the current. Of these, several were 
caught in the weeds, which they with difficulty struggled through ; 
others were only saved by the punt being taken out with ropes to 
them, by which means they were pulled free. 

‘ This is too dangerous a place to go hap-hazard at,’ said Mr. 
Danker. ‘ Floss, you and Tom go over in the punt and send the 
workers back. Take your saddle and catch one of the spare 
horses we will send across when the bullocks are here, and collect 
the straggling cattle opposite the crossing ; they will help to draw 
the mob over.’ 

His orders were promptly executed. The Puncher’s long whip 
soon sent the team back, and Tom followed in the punt, while 
Gifford drove those of the herd that had crossed to the landing to 


6o 


PAVING THE WAY 


attract the main mob. Once more they were formed and brought 
up at a run, this time with perfect success, the leaders keeping a 
straight line ; and in a short time all were safely on the right side, 
to the joy and relief of the owners. 

‘To-morrow we will push along,’ said the leader, ‘as already 
decided, in hopes of leaving the black fellows in the rear ; but 
to-day we must stay where we are.’ 

‘ There are many smokes down the Murray,’ replied Floss. ‘ I 
could see them from the rising ground.’ 

‘The more reason to get away from them by moving quickly,’ 
was the rejoinder. 

For the next two days all went smoothly, and considerable 
progress was made. They had kept almost entirely away from 
the river, watering the cattle at backwaters and lagoons, and 
already the vigilance of each member of the party was becoming 
a little relaxed. 

‘According to my map,’ said Mr. Danker, ‘at the midday 
camp we are within a short distance of Lake Victoria and the 
Rufus, which supplies it from the Murray. Shall we go round the 
lake or cross the stream ? Perhaps I had better ride ahead and 
look with one of you.’ 

This was agreed upon, and accompanied by Roland he set off. 
A couple of hours brought them to the lake, a splendid sheet of 
water stretching ten or twelve miles out back. 

‘ I don’t relish the idea of circling that expanse,’ said Danker ; 
‘ suppose we have a glance at the Rufus ; we don’t see any smokes ; 
perhaps the darkies are left behind us at last.’ 

‘ It seems a pity to go all round the lake if we can avoid it,’ 
answered young Grantley. 

Accordingly they continued on through a gum and box covered 
flat interspersed with polygonum bushes until they struck the 
bank of a broad creek, which was no doubt the Rufus, as the 
current was running strong into the lake. 

‘ Not much after the Darling and Anabranch,’ observed Danker ; 
‘shall we try it and save going round?’ 

‘ By all means,’ said Roland. 

‘Well, we will hear what the others say, but I am not sure it is 
wise. The grass is certainly splendid — that is one inducement; 
and the country abutting on the lake looks heavy for the drays.’ 

After discussing the matter, the party unanimously decided to 
cross the stream in preference to going round the great sheet of 
water. That night they arrived near it, in timber, the whole of the 
country thereabouts being wooded. No signs of blacks had been 
observed for forty-eight hours, and there appeared every reason to 
suppose that none were near. Nevertheless, the fire-arms were 
kept loaded and in readiness for the worst. 

‘ I am in the morning watch,’ said Mr. Danker, ‘ and I shall 
call all hands by daylight so as to make an early start at the 
crossing ; so you fellows may as well sleep with one eye open.’ 


A BRUSH WITH THE BLACKS 


6i 


‘The boss is fidgety to-night,’ Floss observed to Grantley 
when they met on their rounds afterwards ; ‘ and I don’t quite 
wonder, for I have had a few brushes with the niggers on the 
Sydney side, and this is just the sort of place they select for their 
night attacks. Cover everywhere and a river to dive in when 
things become too warm for them. You see, they know our horses 
are little advantage to us then.’ 

The cattle were restless, and this prevented further conversation ; 
but Roland too began to wish they had taken the longer, safer 
road by the head of the lake. 

‘ Be prepared at a moment’s notice,’ said the leader when going 
on watch. ‘ I don’t fancy our position over much in all this 
brushwood, so there is the more necessity to be careful’ 

‘The mob has been very unsettled,’ replied Floss, ‘but has now 
quieted down. We shall look alive directly you call. I can’t say 
the camp is a pleasant one under the circumstances,’ and down 
went the speaker into his blankets to forget his misgivings in the 
sound sleep of youth and health. 

It seemed to him that he had just closed his eyes, and the dream 
he was busy about had scarcely developed into the interesting 
stage, when the words ‘ Daylight breaking ’ in Banker’s well-known 
tones sounded in his ears. 

‘What’s the matter with the mob?’ he cried, as the thunderous 
sound of a large number of frightened cattle in rapid motion broke 
on the silence. Before there was time to answer, the whole herd 
was off with a mad rush for the open country, horns and hoofs 
clashing, and trees and bushes torn up and levelled as they 
swept away. 

‘The blacks, by heaven !’ shouted Danker ; ‘but for the cattle 
they would have surprised us. Stand to it, men ; they mean 
mischief this time.’ 

The drays gave the whites cover, of which they promptly 
availed themselves. The blacks, gesticulating, yelling, and dancing, 
as is their practice in battle, were now distinctly seen only a few 
hundred yards away. Painted in their grotesque fashion with 
alternate stripes of red and white and ornamented with feathers, 
they looked devils incarnate in the misty morning light. 

‘ Fire a few shots over their heads,’ said Danker ; ‘ perhaps it 
may intimidate them and save life.’ 

Not a bit of it ; they laughed in derisive glee and contempt as 
they came on with poised spears and brandished boomerangs and 
waddies, scarcely troubling to take advantage of the cover of the 
bushes in their scorn of the white man. 

The overlanders as yet had held their fire, watching the black 
warriors, two to three hundred in number, coming on in a fairly 
steady line some three deep. 

‘ It’s no use delaying any longer ; we must shoot,’ said Danker, 
as he gave the signal by discharging his own rifle. Four or 
five dropped at the first volley, but most of the others still 


63 


PAVING THE WAY 


advanced, encouraged by a tall, splendidly made fellow profusely 
ornamented, flinging showers of their weapons before them as they 
came. Again the whites fired, and again several fell or retired 
badly hit. They now sought shelter in the bushes and behind 
trees, apparently preparing for a rush. 

‘ I dl give them both barrels this time,’ said Tom, and he did. 

When they again advanced there was a wild yell, and they 
literally seemed to melt away. The scattering shot of the big 
duck-gun had wounded so many, that a regular panic ensued. A 
few shots were still fired at flying figures, as they flashed past 
through the trees and into the river, more to accelerate their flight 
than to kill ; but the fight was over. Then the victors turned to 
see whether any among themselves were killed or injured, and 
were greatly relieved to find that no one was seriously hurt. 
There were three spear-wounds — one through Enfield’s left arm, 
another in Jem the stockman’s hand, and a graze on Banker’s 
side. Besides these, several contusions from partially spent 
waddies and boomerangs had been received. They all made 
little of their wounds. Enfield’s was the worst, though the spear 
that had inflicted it was only a light one and fortunately not 
barbed. 

‘ I don’t think it ’s any worse than some of the bruises you fellows 
have got,’ he said, ‘ and luckily it isn’t my right wing.’ 

The leader had had a very narrow escape ; the spear, a heavy 
barbed one over eight feet long, having passed through his clothes 
and actually grazed his side, while it had been thrown with such 
force that he was carried clean off his feet and pinned to the 
ground. 

‘ Another inch or two, and I expect it would have been all up 
with your humble servant,’ he quietly remarked, when relieved 
from his unpleasant position. ‘ I think I ’ll keep that weapon to 
hang in the hall I mean to own yet in Australia, when the natives 
cease from troubling and the squatter is at rest.’ 


CHAPTER XI 

NATIVE OBSEQUIES 

In Australian bush life the most exciting events are not allowed 
to interfere with the business of the hour. Almost directly after 
the fight was over, the horses were brought up, while breakfast was 
in preparation. Floss and Grantley mounted immediately and 
started to collect the cattle, now to be seen feeding quietly round 
the lake, with instructions to allow them to continue on. 

‘ It ’s not worth while bringing them back now they have such a 
start,’ decided Mr. Danker ; ‘ we’ll go round and leave the black 


NATIVE OBSEQUIES 63 

fellows the victors in that respect ; I fancy they have had a lesson 
they will remember. Not a single dead one about, do you say, 
Tom ? That doesn’t speak much for our shooting, eh ? ’ 

‘ They carried them off as they fell, boss,’ replied the Puncher. 

‘ I saw them taking them to the creek where they tied their 
canoes.’ 

‘No doubt that was the way they sneaked up, and as an old 
bushman I ought to have known better than to allow myself to be 
caught in such a trap ; I do believe they would have done for 
some of us if it hadn’t been for your big double-barrel, Tom. 
That last fusillade settled them.’ 

‘I am inclined to think,’ said Enfield philosophically, ‘that a 
liberal discharge of swan-shot scattered over our bare hides would 
damp our ardour for combat even more than an occasional fatal 
bullet. It seemed to blind half the poor wretches. That plucky 
beggar who was leading was certainly blinded, for they had to 
lead him away.’ 

‘ There is no mistake about their pluck,’ said Danker ; ‘ but they 
don’t understand that their only chance against our powder and 
ball is to come to close quarters at once. It’s fortunate that it is 
so, for we should fare badly at close quarters with their spears, 
boomerangs, and waddies. They fight us as they have been 
accustomed to fight each other, which is within fair range for our 
fire-arms.’ 

‘Which all proves,’ replied Enfield, ‘that but for our gunpowder 
we should find civilising the Australian savage, or say Australia, 
attended with greater difficulties than we usually realise.’ 

‘ Not a doubt of it. But breakfast is over ; yoke up, boys, and 
let us get out of this. We have all had enough of the Rufus 
blacks.’ 

Before leaving a spot they would all remember to their dying 
day, a final search was made for any dead or wounded natives ; 
but it was quite in vain, and it was evident that during the combat 
they had been carried off. There was, indeed, a plain track to 
the edge of the stream marked with blood ; there, no doubt, canoes 
took those away who were dead or too badly injured to swim. 
This track led through thick bushes from the battle-ground, and 
was obviously the way by which the savages had approached the 
camp. It was well known, even in those early days, that the 
aborigines never left their dead or wounded on a battlefield, if 
there was a possibility of removing them. Their invariable cus- 
tom is, as soon as a man falls, to take him beyond the reach of the 
enemy. So universal is this rule, that in conflicts between hostile 
tribes the fall of one or two warriors nearly always ends or sus- 
pends the struggle, the friends of the dead or injured retiring with 
them. Most of the combats among themselves appear to take 
place after open declarations of war and an exchange of mutual 
defiances sent by messengers or heralds, probably days or even 
weeks before the parties meet. Towards the whites, their procedure 


PAVING THE WAY 


64 

was always the reverse ; they soon recognised their weakness and 
the necessity of taking every advantage that secrecy and surprise 
could give them. For this reason, the first break of day w’as 
chosen, when the white man was known to be usually asleep and 
off his guard. I am not prepared to assert that they never attacked 
a coloured enemy without fair warning — that would be a Quixot- 
ism an aboriginal warrior would have laughed to scorn even in 
the palmiest day of his pride and power, before he became con- 
taminated and demoralised, as he indisputably has been, by his 
white brother ; but the European he placed in the category of the 
animals he thought it his duty to destroy in any and every way. 
In his eyes the white man was the personification of ruthless, 
all-absorbing power; never satisfied without the whole of the 
country ; before whom his people absolutely withered away, even 
when not actively ill-treated, as was too frequently the case. 

Under the most favourable circumstances for the aborigine, the 
stranger took complete possession of his country and destroyed 
his game, thus compelling him to depend largely on the intruder 
for subsistence, or driving him back upon hostile tribes. This en- 
gendered the bitterest hate, though it might be masked under the 
most abject subserviency. The process began with the coast-tribes, 
and has continued throughout the whole of inhabited Australia. 
F rom the first colonisation to the present time, no adequate reserves 
have ever been set aside for the unfortunate people whom we have 
dispossessed and all but annihilated. This is a black indictment 
to make, but the sting is in its truth. Those who have seen the 
process must unhesitatingly though reluctantly admit that the 
darkest stain on Australia’s fair fame is her treatment of the 
aboriginal race. We found them a happy, healthy people ; and 
wherever we have come in contact with them, in less than fifty 
years we have civilised them off the face of the land, or such a 
miserable remnant is left that it were a mercy if it had gone too. 

Well might the tribe at the Rufus raise the wild lament over 
their slain in the fatal combat on its banks. It was for them the 
beginning of the end, the first real trial of strength, in which they 
learned how little their numbers, courage, and skill could, with 
their primitive weapons, avail against the stranger’s powder and 
ball. WelFmay they believe him to be ‘the son of the lightning,’ 
the very Evil One himself. But not yet, though humbled, do they 
acknowledge him as master ; once more they will measure their 
force against his before sinking into the subjection and ruin that 
await them. 

We will not linger with our party of overlanders. The journey 
ended without any further adventures worthy of mention, and in 
about six weeks after the encounter with the Rufus blacks they 
arrived at Encounter Bay. At that period, such an expedition 
was considered quite an event, and the introduction of such a 
large number of cattle was of the utmost importance to the young 
colony, then only recently proclaimed. 


NATIVE OBSEQUIES 65 

The mob was equally divided, Mr. Danker taking his portion 
to a station he formed near Rapid Bay, while Enfield and Gifford 
moved to the creek near Lake Alexandrina, and Grantley settled 
at Encounter Bay as had been previously arranged. Tom the 
Puncher accompanied Mr. Danker, driving his beloved bullock- 
team with him. He had attached himself to the leader in a silent, 
undemonstrative way that seemed to touch the bluff, kind-hearted 
man. 

‘ I ’ll take the team as part of my share,’ he said, ‘ and Tom with 
it ; ’ so that was settled. 

Jem the Stockman was the only hand Roland took with him, as 
he knew that he would receive any other assistance he required 
from his friends at the Fishery. It was with a joy he had not felt 
for many a day that he rode up to the station. It looked just the 
same as when he started : the huts, the boathouse with the sloping 
platform from it to the sea, the flag-staff on the Bluff— he took them 
all in and welcomed them. There were even the remains of several 
unfortunate whales on the beach, showing that the season had 
begun propitiously. Presently, however, best of all the pictures 
that were treasured in his memory, the light, graceful form he was 
longing to see came flying towards him. 

‘ O Roily, Roily ! ’ she cried breathlessly, between smiles and 
tears, * what a man you have grown, and what a long time you have 
been away ! ’ 

They gazed into each other’s eyes with all the mutual admiration 
that our first parents no doubt felt and showed when first they met 
in the days of primeval innocence. 

‘ And you, little woman, are more changed than I thought pos- 
sible ; I left a child, I find a woman.’ 

There was, perhaps, not much in the words, but the tones were 
low and caressing, and the girl coloured with delight. Auntie now 
came out, and fairly beamed upon the returned hero. 

‘ Come and have something to eat,’ she insisted. ‘ I expect you 
have been starved “ bushing ” it so long ; ’ and she made him sit 
down to the same old hot cakes he remembered so well. 

‘ Dad is coming,’ cried Petrel ; ‘ the blacks told us yesterday 
that a big mob of cattle were behind the Nob, and he said it must 
be you, so he only went to Granite Island and is to be back here 
to dinner to meet you. Dear old dad ! how glad he will be 1 ’ 

And he was, too, for when Roland met him at the landing he 
sprang out of the boat and almost hugged him. Jack the Har- 
pooner raised a cheer in which all the men heartily joined, so glad 
were they to see again the boy who had come among them so 
strangely. The Headman looked the picture of happiness as he 
walked to the cottage with the young people on either side of 
him. 

‘And those are all your cattle, are they,’ he asked, ‘that I saw 
crossing the Inman ? By-the-by, some sections of land have been 
surv'eyed by the party whose tents are pitched on the rise ; you 

E 


66 


PAVING THE WAY 


had better take them up, and we will help to form your station ; 
I ’ve got the very man to do it here waiting for you.’ 

‘ That is fortunate,’ said Roland. ‘ I knew you would do what 
you could, but, the whaling season being on, I was afraid there 
would be no one to spare.’ 

‘This is a young fellow who has only turned up the last few 
days, and he has already been looking out timber to build your 
house with. You shall see him. His name is Jabez Darkenby, 
which we have shortened to “ Darkie.” ’ 

An hour later Grantley was introduced to a tall, broad-shouldered 
young man who was watching his horse cropping the grass near 
the beach. Each looked attentively at the other, evidently finding 
something to attract his regard. The stranger was dark to swarthi- 
ness, with an open, good-tempered countenance ever changing in 
expression. The eyes were clear and shifting but still bold. The 
features were all good and even attractive, though the whole face 
failed to give the impression of strength of purpose. Its varying 
expression in itself gave the idea of irresolution ; and yet, when the 
splendid physique was noticed, it was impossible to do other than 
acknowledge that here was a man capable of performing more 
than ordinary deeds. 

The stranger, on the other hand, thought, as he gazed on the 
handsome stripling — 

‘ Not only good-looking but plucky ; the very man for me ! ’ 

‘ I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Grantley,’ he said. ‘ I have 
heard much of you, from the people here, during the past week. 
Mr. Cleeve tells me you will require a hut and stockyard built ; I 
am looking for employment, and will be glad to do it.’ 

‘What about remuneration?’ asked Roland, who saw at once 
that here was a man with a history. 

‘If you are agreeable, we will leave that until we are better 
acquainted,’ said the stranger. ‘ Meanwhile, will you allow me to 
take your horse and relieve you of the cattle for the remainder of 
the day ? I am a bit of a stockman among other things.’ 

‘ I shall be very glad,’ said Roland, ‘and so will Jem out there ; 
we ’ve been close to their tails for some time now.’ 

The stranger, with a cheery laugh, mounted and rode off, 
evidently in his element. 

‘ I like that fellow,’ said Grantley to the Headman. ‘He must 
be accustomed to stock from the way he talks.’ 

The big man did not reply, and the speaker understood that it 
was better to ask no questions, as was generally the case with new 
arrivals among the whalers. 

From that day a friendship sprang up between the young 
squatter and the unknown. The latter was at once so useful and 
so agreeable. Nothing came amiss to him. He felled the timber 
for the modest house, and in an incredibly short time erected and 
roofed it in. Then the stockyard was put up, with the assistance 
of Roland and the stockman, but entirely under his supervision. 


NATIVE OBSEQUIES 


67 


There was even an attempt at a garden. Milk and butter became 
regular articles of diet, and the cottage assumed an air of com- 
fort that Grantley heartily attributed to the untiring exertions of 
the stranger, of whom he still knew nothing. 

‘ I am a Bohemian,’ said Darkie one evening when they were 
smoking the last pipe for the night. ‘ I have always been a 
ne’er-do-well and always shall be. Men of my class may be of 
some use for a short time, while their love of change will allow 
them to be contented, as I may to you ; but they never do any 
good for themselves.’ 

Petrel, strange to say, always distrusted and even disliked him; 
yet he was invariably respectful, though distant, in his demeanour 
to her. When Roland came alone, she was the same kind, open, 
trustful, and affectionate girl she had ever been, and always ran 
out to meet him with the old free, cordial manner ; but when he 
was accompanied by Darkie she remained in the cottage. 

Grantley had been to Adelaide, the declared site of the future 
capital and seat of the new Government, to purchase the sections 
on which his building stood and also a few adjoining. 

‘ I am a South Australian landed proprietor now,’ he said gaily 
to Petrel when he returned. ‘You must come and look at my 
estate. It will look all the better when you are there, little 
woman.’ 

He meant nothing, but she blushed at her own natural interpre- 
tation of his words, and said she would ask dad to take her soon. 
It must not be inferred from this that she had not seen her lover’s 
property, for in his company she had ridden over the country in 
all directions and walked over much of it. Hunting, shooting, 
fishing, they had been inseparable companions, but she had not 
been as yet inside the house ; that was left until her father could 
be present. 

During this period of his life Grantley had many opportunities 
of becoming acquainted with the manners and customs of the 
natives. As hewers of wood and drawers of water, as stock- 
men and shepherds, they had already become invaluable to the 
English settlers. And later they reaped the ripe wheat when 
white labour was so scarce that the crops must have been lost 
but for their assistance. 

‘One-armed Charlie is dead — died last night — and there is 
going to be high jinks roasting him to-night ; will you come and 
see the ceremony ? ’ 

The speaker was Darkie ; the words addressed to Roland, only 
just ‘ turned out,’ and still drowsy ; the situation, the new hut ; the 
occasion, a bright, clear morning, just after sunrise. 

‘What the deuce should I go and see that disgusting process 
for? and how do you know anything about what is intended?’ 

‘ I got up early and rode down to the blacks’ camp to get some 
fish for breakfast. Such a weeping and wailing was going on that 
I knew something out of the common had happened. So I waited 


68 


PAVING THE WAY 


until Jack the Whaler had the manners to notice me. (You know 
the fellow who first joined Bronte’s crew.) After getting the fish, 
he told me the old man had “ crack-a-backed ” a little before 
daylight ; and as he was a big man in the tribe, he would be paid 
all the funeral honours befitting his station. Of course, it was not 
put precisely in that language, but that was what the beggar 
meant.’ 

‘ Well, as roasting is part of the honours, I hope they won’t eat 
him in their enthusiasm. He’ d be mighty high and tough, if age 
and condition go for anything,’ said Grantley. 

‘ They certainly won’t eat him. Indeed, as an article of food, 
Charlie would be decidedly unpalatable to the hungriest abori- 
ginal ; but, to do them justice, I never knew them in their direst 
straits resort to that, or contemplate anything like cannibalism. 
How or why they roast their dead, or some of them, I don’t know ; 
and, never having seen the process, I want to go to-night.’ 

‘ All right, then, we will go ; but what about the darkies ? will 
they object to our intrusion ? We know that they never speak of 
their dead willingly, or allow strangers to see them, if they can 
prevent it. All the time I have been here I have never seen one, 
except on the platform in the trees where they put them, when 
close observation is out of the question. Ultimately, no doubt, 
they take them down and bury them, but they don’t mark the 
place or appear to like any one to know anything about it. 
Therefore I think they will strongly object to our presence when 
the remains of the defunct Charles of the one arm are being sub- 
jected to the fiery ordeal.’ 

‘ Possibly they may cut up a bit rough ; but we are both 
favourites, and see it I must, if it does lead to a cracked skull.’ 

‘All right,’ said Grantley. ‘We’ll probe the mystery to the 
bottom, if either mystery or bottom there be. Meantime, to 
breakfast. The first duty of man is to nourish himself ; it must 
be, if it is such a great sin to kill one’s self : that’s the natural 
deduction, and it’s a wonder it never struck me before. So fry the 
fish with all speed ; and I say, Darkie, don’t forget to take the 
insides out, as you did last time. I ’m not educated up to appre- 
ciating these native delicacies yet.’ 

When evening came, the young men strolled down to the 
blacks’ camp, which was situated a little above high-water mark 
about a mile from the Fishery. The camp consisted of some dozen 
wurlies^ generally nearly circular in form, constructed of stakes or 
rib-bones of whales stuck in the ground and leaning inwards so 
as to support each other, thus forming an apex at the top. The 
whole was then covered with seaweed, and, if not impervious to 
rain, they were at least very warm. A few were more ambitious in 
construction and much larger in size, but they were the exception. 

On this occasion, considerable preparations had been made for 
the important function on hand. In the centre of the wurlies a 
kind of platform was erected, of wooden uprights placed in the 


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Native Obsequies 






NATIVE OBSEQUIES 69 

soil with horizontal bars across, about three feet from the ground. 
Under these bars smouldered a fire, and round it sat a circle of 
naked natives of probably the highest rank, while behind them 
again were others, and round the camp-fires clustered the women 
and children. 

The fires shone out on the darkness as Darkie and Roland 
approached and became aware of a strong odour of combined 
‘ condolly ’ and the various perfumes pertaining to the picturesque 
wild man, particularly in winter, when his great objection to the 
cold prevents him ever using water as a cleansing agent. There 
was also — or was it only the effect of Grantley’s excited imagina- 
tion ? — another more pungent smell, that Darkie did not appear to 
notice ; at any rate, he paid no attention to it or to the slight 
commotion their arrival created, but stepped through the outer 
line of seated natives and stood by the inner circle. Roland 
followed, painfully conscious that the air was laden with some- 
thing besides ozone, and considerably awed and surprised. 

As I have said, the central object round which the chief men 
sat was the small platform with the fire underneath, and on that, 
above the flame, sat a ghastly figure — none other than the dead 
Charlie himself. The right arm was extended and fastened by a 
string to a beam ; the withered and mangled left, still showing 
how ill unassisted nature had repaired the fearful lacerations 
made by a shark, hung across his breast as in life, when, how- 
ever, it had been jealously hidden by the opossum-skin cloak. 
His head was held erect, with eyes open and staring. The whole 
body and limbs were reddened with a melting compound of ochre 
and whale-oil. It ran dripping down from the corpse into the 
fire below, keeping up the flame, which would have risen too high 
but for the care of those seated round, who, with long sticks in 
hand, regulated it to the proper degree. 

It was a weird, horrible, sickening sight as beheld in that 
wavering light. The wild, black forms with lowering faces ; the 
old hags, ugly as uncanny witches engaged in some ghastly mid- 
night orgie ; and that ghastly thing, dead yet mimicking life, 
slowly melting away over the flaring fire. Roland hurried away 
with Darkie not far behind ; the latter would have lingered in 
hopes of seeing the end and understanding the why and where- 
fore of the whole disgusting operation, but he did not care to 
remain by himself, and his companion declared that both sight 
and smell were diabolical. 

‘ Well,’ said Darkie, ‘ I would like to sift the thing to the bottom 
while I am about it, and I ’ve lived too long among their country- 
men to sicken at a trifle. I have heard that they anoint themselves 
with the drippings from the body, and I wished to set that point 
at rest ; but it can’t be helped. I don’t think it is safe to go back ; 
they might put me where Charlie is without consulting me at all 
in the matter.’ 

^ Nothing will induce me to go back,’ retorted Roland. ‘ T shall 


70 


PAVING THE WAY 


dream of that dreadful figure fixed as if alive over that smouldering 
fire, the lips drawn back with a grin and the stare in the open 
eyes. It’s beyond conception horrible.’ 

‘ 1 did not think you would feel it so much after your experience 
of the wreck and the slaughter of the crew on the Coorong ; that 
must have been bad enough.’ 

‘ God knows it was, and I see it yet sometimes ; but there was 
nothing so repulsive, in one sense, as what we have witnessed 
to-night. Besides, the one was compulsory, and this is voluntary. 
In future I ’ll leave the darkies to deal with their dead without my 
presence or interference. By-the-by, were Big Tom and his two 
lubras there to-night ? ’ 

‘Tom was sitting in the front row,’ said Darkie, ‘with stick in 
hand attending to the last offices (if they are the last) for his 
departed friend ; and, though an eminently respectable nigger on 
ordinary occasions, to-night he looked a most diabolical savage. 
As to the beloved twain, I did not see them, but in all probability 
they were in the background with the other women, for it appears 
that the soft sex (we can’t dub them fair in this case) are not ad- 
mitted to the holy of holies, immediately round the roast.’ 

‘I’ll have a talk with Big Tom to-morrow,’ said Roland, ‘and 
try to find out more about this beastly ceremony of theirs — that is, 
if Thomas, after the enthralling pleasures of the evening, is in a 
fit condition to attend to his duties.’ 

‘ If he is not, doubtless the two Mrs. Thomases will,’ laughed 
the light-hearted Darkie. ‘ He, likely enough, will not show up 
for a day or two, in the hope that you will then have forgotten all 
about this evening’s business.’ 

‘ Then he will be mistaken. Though I would not go again, yet 
I am just as anxious to learn with what object the horrid process 
is gone through as you are. I know they hate talking of their 
dead, and beyond telling you what, it strikes me, is only meant as 
obsequious flattery, that “they will jump up white-fellow,” will say 
nothing. Still, I ’ll try to pump Big Tom.’ 

When morning came it did not bring that stalwart savage, and 
his sable wives, when interrogated respecting his absence, stated 
that he was too sick ‘ long big camp.’ 

‘ I don’t wonder at that — it would make a dog sick,’ growled 
Grantley, and he determined to wait until the next day ; but the 
feminine pair of representatives again appeared with the dairy 
herd. In the evening, however, on going up to the yard, he found 
Tom putting up the rails, as if nothing out of the ordinary course 
had occurred. He even grinned a broad welcome with a splendid 
set of ivories. 

‘Tom, what for black fellows put one-armed Charlie long 
fire ?’ 

The dark face grew set in a moment. 

‘What for white fellow talk like that? No good,’ said Tom; 
* by-and-bye you “ crack-a-back,” supposing you talk like that.’ 


NATIVE OBSEQUIES 71 

‘Never mind me “ crack-a-back.” What for put Charlie long 
fire ? * 

‘ No good, no good ; white fellow “tumble down " you talk like 
that,’ reiterated Big Tom earnestly, and nothing more could be 
got out of him. He was as inscrutable as the Sphinx, and would 
only repeat the same formula as to the danger of early dissolution 
that the white man ran by prosecuting his inquiries into these 
aboriginal mysteries. 

Subsequently, Grantley seized a favourable opportunity, when 
the two lubras were alone, to ask the same questions of them ; but 
they at once sank into stolid silence, refusing to utter a word. 
Seeing the strong objections they entertained to communicate to 
him anything respecting the matter, he gave up further attempts. 
A frame of sticks with leaves and grass strewed over it could now 
be seen placed in the boughs of a thick shea-oak tree which grew 
near the beach, and on it was laid all that remained of the late 
chief. One-armed Charlie. It was a sort of sepulture that many 
of his countrymen had been honoured with before him after under- 
going the purifying influence of the flames, as the remnants of 
numerous decaying biers of this sort, perched like the abandoned 
nests of some huge bird of prey amid the branches of the neigh- 
bouring trees, mutely testified. 


CHAPTER XII 

AUNT ARABELLA ARRIVES 

Before the winter was over a considerable amount of settlement 
had taken place round Encounter Bay. Several farms were now 
occupied in the vicinity, their owners having determined to make 
their living by agriculture. These, if successful, would certainly 
encourage the establishment of others, and the district would thus 
advance in population and prosperity. As he was thinking over 
this one day, and wondering if the sanguine anticipations of the 
bold adventurers would be realised, Roland received a packet of 
letters, from which he learned, to his intense astonishment, that 
his aunt and sisters were leaving England in a few weeks to settle 
with him in Australia. As there had been a long delay in the 
transit of the mail, the ladies might be expected very shortly ; and 
it was with not a little dismay that the young man, as he surveyed 
his bachelor surroundings, asked himself where he was going to 
put them. 

‘ I shall have to build them a house, Darkie,’ he said ; ‘ they are 
coming to settle. If this sort of thing goes on, we shall have to 
seek fresh fields and pastures new, for there is danger of being 


72 


PAVING THE WAY 


crowded out here, or, at the least, of not being able to extend our 
borders, as the stock increases.’ 

‘ I know splendid country,’ replied Darkie, ‘ round the Coorong 
coast’ 

Grantley started. ‘ The devil you do ! It must be beyond 
where I was, then, for that is bad enough — all sand and salt water.’ 

‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘but not many miles farther; it is mag- 
nificently grassed and watered ; nothing like it in this district’ 

This was the beginning of a project subsequently frequently 
discussed between them, and ultimately carried out. Enfield and 
Gifford were consulted, and immediately fell in with the idea. 
Sheep were to be obtained from the Sydney side by droving over- 
land as they had brought the cattle. The question then arose who 
should undertake the journey, as one of each of the two parties 
must remain to attend to their present herds. It was evident that 
Grantley must go for one. Of the other two the lot fell on Enfield, 
and it was decided that they should take their departure as soon 
as Roland’s relations were settled in their new home. 

Riding home from the Creek station after these preliminaries 
had been agreed upon, Grantley’s thoughts turned to Petrel. What 
would she think of this new journey ? He knew, too, that he 
should not find it so easy to part from her as before. Thrown at 
so early an age almost entirely among men, and obliged, as he had 
been, to think and act for himself, he had grown old beyond his 
years, and now realised how much she had become to him. The 
question, too, would obtrude itself, ‘ What would the accomplished, 
highly nurtured ladies who were to take up their abode with him 
think of the wild Australian girl, ill-educated according to their 
ideas of the necessary culture of women, but beautiful exceedingly 
in Roland’s eyes — infinitely more so than those of his own race ? ’ 
That, however, thought Roily, will not recommend poor little 
Petrel. ‘There is a peck of troubles ahead,’ he soliloquised. 
‘ Why the devil could they not stay at home instead of coming out 
here to take care of me, as they put it ? I know what that kind of 
solicitude means. I fancy I can hear them asking what are Miss 
Cleeve’s accomplishments, and see their grimaces when I tell them 
that she can pull, steer, or sail a boat with most men, and probably 
leave them in the race ; that she can ride a horse against any man, 
and fish, shoot, milk, and cook as well as the best — no mean 
advantages, by the way, for an Australian bushman’s bride. 
Indeed, whatever my darling does she does really well. Then, 
what about that other bar my mother speaks of ? Does the ignoble 
stain of convicted criminality really attach to her father? It 
cannot be ; that grand, true man can never have been guilty of 
crime ! even if he ever were a convict. They say there are many 
men on ticket-of-leave, or even in the chained gang now, who were 
innocent, or found guilty of something that ought to be no offence 
against God or man. Fancy how my haughty aunt and sisters 
would elevate their eyebrows at the idea of a Grantley of Grantley 


AUNT ARABELLA ARRIVES 


73 

Hall marrying a convict’s daughter ! Without the slightest doubt,’ 
concluded Roily, ‘ there will be a pretty nest of hornets about my 
ears yet.’ 

Then the thought of his mother’s last letter came to him again, 
in which she laid her dying injunctions upon him never to forget 
his name and lineage, and that his blood was pure, and must be 
kept pure from every taint. ‘ There is in all England no prouder 
name than yours. Ally yourself to none but the noble, if you can, 
but at least to the honourable and stainless. Bear in mind that 
you may yet be called upon to take your ancestral place among 
the best-born of your native land. These are my last words ; 
remember, cherish, and act upon them, if the occasion should ever 
arise, as you love me.’ Such, as we have seen, was the purport of 
the letter that he had so often perused. This letter was but a 
reflex of her own feelings on this subject, which she had striven 
with no slight success to instil into the susceptible mind of her 
boy. It was in his eyes, not alone a solemn injunction, but a 
dying command breathed with almost the latest breath of a loved 
and loving mother. 

That evening Grantley spent at the Fishery, and told the 
Cleeves both of the expected early arrival of his aunt and sisters 
and his projected departure for Sydney. The Headman expressed 
unqualified approval of the stocking of more country with 
sheep. 

‘ I only know the western part of the Coorong coast, but there 
is no doubt that some of the land there is grand, with fine lakes 
and rich soil — perhaps too rich and wet for sheep,’ he said ; ‘but 
it is well known that the blacks about there are a bad lot.’ 

Petrel looked with serious eyes at Roland while he was discuss- 
ing the matter of his going to Sydney with her father, and also 
the dangerous proclivities of the south-eastern aboriginals, but 
cheered up at the mention of the advent of the ladies. 

‘Won’t that be nice for you !’ she exclaimed ; ‘but what a pity 
you must go away so soon after they come ! They won’t let you 
go, you may be sure, for a long time.’ 

‘ I don’t think I shall find it half so hard to leave them as a cer- 
tain little girl I know,’ he whispered, and her large bright eyes 
grew brighter still at the tender tone of his voice. 

‘Why must you go. Roily?’ she murmured ; ‘send Darkie, and 
you stay to look after the station and your relations.’ 

‘ It won’t do. Pet ; he can attend to things here, but could not 
take my place in Sydney, nor would Enfield consent. I must 
leave you, little woman, for a few more months.’ 

They were now outside strolling down towards the rocks on the 
beach. Sitting down on a favourite seat of theirs overlooking the 
sea, Roland continued — 

‘ You won’t miss me so much this time. Pet ; there are lots of 
people settling about here whom you will soon know.’ 

‘ I don’t want to know them,’ she answered • ‘ I liked it better 


74 


PAVING THE WAY 


when we two were alone. You will tire of me now, and go to your 
own people,’ and the big tears glistened in her eyes. 

What could he do but kiss them away ? 

‘ I ’ll never forget you, dear ; I should be a wretch indeed if I 
did. I love you. Pet, love you very dearly,’ he murmured, clasping 
her close, and the girl gazed into his flashing eyes, believed, and 
asked no more. 

There was no engagement ; Petrel wished for none, thought of 
none ; she simply loved with a perfect trust that never admitted 
of a shadow of doubt. With the youth it was different ; his 
thoughts dwelt much on the future, in spite of the halcyon days 
that he revelled in now and the passion that stirred his blood into 
flame. 

‘ Love her ! my God, I do love her ! but if there is this convict 
stain, what am I to do ?’ he often said to himself. 

In Petrel’s presence, however, this self-torture ceased. She 
charmed away all misgivings. How could it be otherwise when 
she was there, so loving, confiding, and passing beautiful ? 

Her father and aunt saw nothing ; Roland had always been 
affectionate, and the girl’s natural shyness had grown when she 
became conscious that she loved. She was now less demonstra- 
tive when her lover was present, and as he was much occupied in 
preparing for the arrival of his relatives and for his own journey, 
there really seemed to be nothing in the relations of the young 
people to excite the notice of their elders. 

At length a brig sailed into the Bay one day and anchored 
under Granite Island. A message presently arrived to the effect 
that the expected ladies were on board, and intended landing at 
the Point in the afternoon. Grantley was out on his run when the 
message came, and did not return in time to welcome them on 
board, but as soon as he got back drove down in the cart to 
receive them on landing and convey them to the cottage. Pre- 
sently a heavily laden boat drew up to the beach, but the tide was 
low and the water very shallow, and it became evident that the 
only way to reach terra firma was by mounting on a sailor’s back. 

There were five women, one at least of buxom build, and there 
remained a considerable expanse of water to traverse before reach- 
ing the land. On the shore stood a line of savage black forms, 
male and female, arrayed in native ‘ buff.’ Roland stood a little 
aside, enjoying the spectacle. 

‘ I tell you, Maria,’ protested the elderly lady, Ht’s not decent. 
Tell them to send those naked wretches away. Besides, no man 
can carry me all that distance ; he will be sure to drop me.’ 

‘Well, aunt, Joan and I will go first ; the men are becoming 
impatient.’ 

‘ Then put your veils down, dears.’ 

This much could be heard, uttered in suppressed tones, accom- 
panied by little stifled shrieks, as two of the ladies on ‘sailor-back’ 
left the boat and approached the land. On came the muffled fair 









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Not for the world! she declared. I wonder, nephew, how you can 
propose such a thing ! 




AUNT ARABELLA ARRIVES 


75 


ones, and by-and-by they were safely deposited directly in front 
of Grantley, who immediately stepped forward and embraced his 
elder sister. 

‘ Oh, you horrid rude man !’ shrieked the insulted damsel. 
‘Why, I declare it’s brother Roily! How you frightened me!’ 
laughed Maria, half-hysterically. Whereupon ensued more kiss- 
ing and embracing. 

Then two well-grown maids were brought to land by frolicsome 
tars, after great pretence of falling and exhaustion, which caused 
a vast assumption of indignation on the part of the blushing 
damsels. The boat was now so considerably lightened that the 
men, who obviously viewed the substantial form of the elder lady 
with the respect due to large proportions, were enabled to drag it 
within a short distance of the water’s edge. 

‘ It would be a fitting welcome to Australia, aunt, if some of the 
aboriginal gentlemen, who have assembled to honour your arrival, 
were allowed to carry you on shore,’ said Roland with a perfectly 
grave face. ‘ They have requested me to convey their desire to 
you.’ 

The lady glanced through her veil at the row of black figures, 
with their white teeth glistening as they laughed at the strange 
scene. 

‘Not for the world!’ she declared. ‘I wonder, nephew, how 
you can propose such a thing ! I would sooner return to the 
ship.’ 

‘ But this is Arcadia, aunt. Besides, to the pure all things are 
pure.’ 

‘ Fudge !’ said the lady, with an unmistakable toss of her head. 

Old Ocean solved the difficulty in his own way. A heavy swell 
ran in unobserved by the sailors, who were engrossed with the 
novel sight of the natives, and caught the boat, tossing it up on 
the beach. Miss Grantley was thrown over the side on to the 
strand, giving a goodly exhibition of understandings that put those 
of the natives of her own sex to utter shame. Roland and her 
nieces rushed to the rescue, and when she realised that no damage 
had been sustained, and that she was at last actually on land, her 
ruffled plumes calmed down. 

‘ Allow me to escort you to the carriage. Aunt Arabella,’ said 
Roland, after he had duly saluted her ; ‘ the remainder of your 
luggage will be brought up later.’ 

‘Where is it, my dear?’ she replied, looking round inquiringly. 
Roland led her ceremoniously to the cart. 

‘ Ah, nephew, I see you have developed into a wag ; but was it 
well to make me the butt of your wit at our first meeting ?’ 

‘You have made a bad beginning, Roily,’ said Joan, ‘by 
ruffling the dignity of the family.’ 

‘ Ah, poor me !’ he answered plaintively. ‘ What evil spirit pos- 
sessed me to try to take a rise out of Aunt Arabella !’ 

Then they drove off, and after the occupants had several times 


PAVING THE WAY 


76 

been bumped into a heap in the bottom of the cart, drew up at the 
door of Roland’s new home. 

‘Welcome, aunt, to “Talkie Hall,”’ said he. ‘I regret that a 
few sticks and pebbles are still left on the drive. It’s lucky that 
our colonial carriages pass over them so easily,’ he“added, with a 
merry twinkle. 

‘ Thank God I have arrived, nephew, though it be covered with 
bruises and contusions. Certainly your cottage is beautifully 
situated ; and I must congratulate you on your manly appearance 
— quite the Grantley features, my dear.’ 

Miss Grantley prided herself on possessing the characteristics 
of the distinguished race from which she sprang. She was above 
the middle height and somewhat given to embonpoint, with 
strongly marked features, the nose especially being decidedly 
beaky. Her eyes were large and clear, and she still possessed 
good, well-preserved teeth, which she frequently showed between 
her rather thin lips. It was, on the whole, a decidedly aristocratic 
face, not lacking in intelligence, but certainly not pleasing. The 
two girls, both older than their brother, could not quite lay claim 
to his good looks. Though their faces were very dissimilar in 
expression, each had the family features — the same dark hair and 
pretty blue eyes, rounded chins, and rosy complexions. Maria 
had the better nose ; Joan, the younger, the prettier mouth ; she, 
too, was much slighter than her sister. Brought up, as they had 
been, by their aunt, they were well impregnated with caste pre- 
judices, and above all with the fact that they were of the blood 
of the Grantley s of Grantley Hall, and must act up to the tradi- 
tions of that august family. But withal they were good, honest 
English girls. 


CHAPTER XIII 

BRITISH JUSTICE 

Some months after the events narrated in the last chapter, the 
newly established monthly mail from Adelaide made its appear- 
ance, just two days behind time, bringing the following official 
letter addressed to Roland Grantley : — 

‘Office of the Commissioner of Police, 
Adelaide. 

‘ Sir,— I have the honour, under instructions from the Commissioner of 
Police, to inform you that the Government have determined to despatch a 
detachment of police under the command of Major Cuthbert to investigate 
the circumstances attending the reported massacre, on the Coorong, of the 
crew and passengers of the brig Mary by the natives. As you are said to 


BRITISH JUSTICE 77 

be the sole survivor of the ill-fated ship’s company, you are requested to 
hold yourself in readiness to attend the party to the scene of the disaster. 

‘ The detachment leaves here to-morrow, the 23rd inst. , and will probably 
reach Encounter Bay on the 26th ensuing. — I am, sir, your obedient 
servant, J. M. Forbes. 

‘ Roland Grantley, Esq., 

Encounter Bay. ’ 

‘ Well, they have been long enough about it,’ grumbled the 
recipient ; ‘ and this means a delay in getting off to Sydney, too. 
I suppose this inquiry will lead to nothing more than a present of 
blankets and flour. By heaven, I wish I could have the command 
of the force !’ and the dreamy eyes flashed. ‘The manes of my 
brave old friend would be satisfied, and all those who died that 
night bitterly avenged !’ 

When told of the expedition, Darkie informed Roland that he 
had arranged to meet a stockman on a neighbouring station, and 
would be absent for several days. 

‘ It does not the least matter,’ replied the other. ‘ You had 
better collect all the stragglers, in any case, before I leave for the 
overland trip.’ 

‘All right,’ said Darkie, as if pleased, and before the arrival of 
the police he was gone. 

On the evening of the day named. Major Cuthbert rode up to 
Talkie. He was a fine, soldierly-looking man, and greeted the 
young squatter as an old acquaintance, having already met him 
in Adelaide. 

‘ Business first,’ he said, ‘ and then you can introduce me to the 
ladies. My party are camped at the Point, where I propose 
forming a permanent police station. I don’t think it desirable 
to linger here more than the night, as it is inadvisable to give the 
blacks any opportunity of communicating with the Coorong 
fellows, with whom we know they are often friendly. Then, again, 
I am to leave some of my men at the Murray to patrol the country 
round here in order to apprehend a band of our noted vagabonds 
who have lately located themselves in the district, and if I stayed 
here with my large party it would excite their suspicions. I have 
boats at the Elbow, ready to meet me at the Mouth to-morrow 
night. Now, are you ready to accompany me first thing in the 
morning ? I can mount you.’ 

‘ Any time you like, major, and the sooner the better, for I am only 
waiting for the conclusion of this business to start for Sydney.’ 

‘ That is settled, then,’ Cuthbert replied ; then turning to his 
orderly he said, ‘ Return to the camp, and tell the sergeant to be 
ready to start at daylight, and to send a horse for Mr. Grantley 
here with mine. ‘By-the-by,’ he said to Roland, ‘if you are 
going to Sydney, the Black Swan sails the middle of next month. 
We shall have finished this job before that. Why, there’s time 
enough to hang all the blacks on the Coorong, eh ? — if we could 
only catch them. Seriously though, Grantley, do you think you 


78 


PAVING THE WAY 


can identify any of the actual perpetrators of the murders— fellows 
that a man can hang, not only with a clear conscience, but with 
satisfaction ?’ 

‘ Yes, one, and one only,’ replied Roland ; ‘ a fierce-looking devil 
with a scar across his brow and cheek, and wearing a brass 
locket of some sort on his chest.’ 

‘ Well, that is something ; he can’t get rid of the scar, anyhow, 
and if we catch a fellow with both your distinguishing marks, that 
will be confirmation strong as — well, if not as Holy Writ, yet 
strong enough for us to string him up. But what about the 
scoundrels who nearly caught you at the Mouth ? Is it possible 
that you can point them out ?’ 

‘No, quite impossible. I scarcely saw them, and was only 
conscious that they were close to me.’ 

‘ I can understand that,’ said the major kindly. ‘ Possibly 
Cleeve or some of his boat’s crew may be able to recognise them, 
or even the pretty little daughter, who so pluckily winged, or 
rather legged, one of them. If you will walk down with me this 
evening, I will interview my friend the Headman. Now for the 
ladies,’ said the gallant major, drawing himself up in his best 
military manner. 

The Headman was delighted to see the major when later in the 
evening he entered the cottage with Roland, and the two immedi- 
ately fell into what appeared an interesting conversation. Petrel 
was still more pleased to meet Grantley, and whatever they had 
to say was doubtless still more interesting to themselves. An 
unwelcome interruption presently came. ‘You had better ask her, 
major,’ said Mr. Cleeve. 

‘ Well, Miss Petrel, I want you to tell me all about the black 
fellows you prevented snapping up this young fellow. Were they 
ugly or handsome, old or young, bald-headed or wall-eyed ? ’ 

‘ What a lot of questions, sir ! ’ said she, laughing ; ‘ but I don’t 
know what they were like ; I was too frightened to look.’ 

‘ But not too frightened to shoot straight,’ said the officer, 
smiling. ‘ Don’t you think you would know any of them again ?’ 

‘ I am sure I should not,’ she answered ; ‘ I never saw them after 
I fired. I was watching Roland. He looked so dreadful as he 
ran up and fell into the boat.’ 

‘A lucky shot for Grantley, which no doubt saved his life,’ 
remarked the major. 

‘You must remember, sir,’ said Cleeve, ‘that the Mouth is a 
ticklish place to enter in an open boat, and there was a tidy swell 
on into the bargain. I was watching the boat, and, of course, the 
men at the oars had their backs to the land and could not see the 
blacks. As for my little girl, she had the best chance of seeing 
them ; but she was deadly pale, and really did not know that she 
had hit one until I told her.’ 

‘ I don’t doubt what you tell me, though I am much disappointed, 
as I am anxious to obtain some evidence to justify the action I 


BRITISH JUSTICE 79 

am ordered to take. I hoped you might be able to supply sufficient 
to identify the three savages, who would certainly have killed our 
friend here but for your gallant interposition, which I am instructed 
by the Governor to say he fully recognises. N ow, good-night,’ and, 
warmly shaking hands, the major departed. 

Roland had meanwhile been taking a farewell of Petrel on his 
own account, under the verandah. 

* One of the best and most honest fellows in all Australia, even 
though he be a convict,’ said the major as they walked on, ‘ whatever 
his back record may be ; and most certainly the prettiest girl, bar 
none, and I think I know them all as yet. I was sorry to press 

them about the d d blacks, but it was necessary, not merely 

because there is an impression among the police that these people 
will not give evidence, but because I don’t like the responsibility 
of making an example being entirely thrown upon me. Some 
have got to hang, and if witnesses can be found to swear to the 
guilty parties there need be no compunction ; but if I am com- 
pelled to pick out two or three out of a campfull, why, to say the 
least, it’s unpleasant.’ 

It may be imagined with what feelings Roland heard the major’s 
reference to Cleeve’s past life, which confirmed his as yet almost 
unacknowledged suspicions. But in the necessity for action he 
put the matter from him for the present. 

The following morning the detachment was early on the march 
for the Murray Mouth, where it arrived the same evening. The 
boats, with supplies from the Elbow, were already there. Pre- 
parations were immediately made, and the horses were passed over 
by swimming behind the boats, a man in the stern holding the 
reins. When over, camp was formed, with instructions that an 
early start would be made in the morning. 

‘ I hear from the Elbow party,’ said the major, ‘that the whole 
tribe are camped some distance along the Coorong ; so that we 
shall probably complete the objects of the expedition the day after 
to-morrow. I shall not linger over it, you may be sure.’ 

On resuming the march, the party was spread out so as to search 
the strip of country between the lake and the sea, and continued 
to move on, except for a halt for lunch, until evening was setting 
in, without seeing a single native. Then some smoke was observed 
five or six miles away. 

‘ Camp,’ ordered the leader ; ‘ we will surround them as soon 
after daylight as possible.’ 

No fires were allowed ; the horses were picketed near ; and in 
the early dawn the party silently started. On approaching the 
smoke, now distinctly seen rising from among the sandhills, the 
force was divided, the larger portion being sent by the beach at a 
brisker pace, so as to encircle the camp. They were to keep on 
the soft sand, so as to deaden the sound of the horses’ hoofs ; ye t 
it was soon apparent that they were heard by the blacks, though 
too late for escape had they attempted it, as the troopers were now 


8o 


PAVING THE WAY 


closing in, carbines in hand. Along the lake-side rode the major 
and Grantley with about a dozen troopers, forcing their way 
through some low bushes, when three or four dark forms dashed 
past in the direction of the water. 

‘ Stand, in the Queen’s name ! ’ roared the officer, military eti- 
quette predominating for one single instant over his instinct to pull 
the trigger of his revolver. But the newly acquired, disloyal sub- 
jects of England’s majesty paid not the slightest regard to the 
order, which they did not understand, and with fleet steps they 
fled on. Another moment and they would dive in the water. 
‘ Fire ! ’ and a dozen reports rang out in the clear morning 
air. Two of the four black forms immediately collapsed, the 
impetus of their flight carrying them shooting along the turf, as a 
sportsman has often seen a bird do when killed on the wing. A 
third reached the edge of the lake, endeavoured to dive in, and 
died in the effort. 

The fourth, tall and spare to leanness, plunged in, the bullets 
dropping over the spot as he disappeared. A moment later his 
hand could be seen grasping the far side of a bark canoe which 
floated on the rippling tide, and then, keeping it between himself 
and his foes, he swam rapidly away with the bullets hailing round 
him. When fairly out of range, he rose in his frail craft, his 
savage form glistening from the water in the morning sunlight, 
and with gesture and shout hurled his defiance back at them. 

‘The scoundrel has escaped,’ fiercely broke from the excited 
major ; ‘ pretty shots you fellows must be. But we may catch him 
yet.’ 

‘ That is the man of them all you most wanted to capture, 
major — the fellow with the scar ; I am sure of it from a glimpse 
I had as he passed us in the bushes,’ said Roland. 

‘Then we have made a bad beginning,’ replied the officer, ‘ for 
there he goes straight for the other side, far beyond our reach. I 
don’t know how the devil we missed him, but it can’t be helped. 
Are those fellows dead ? " he asked a trooper. 

‘Yes, sir, dead as Julius Csesar.’ 

The order was given to rejoin the main body at the blacks’ 
camp. The natives there had made no further attempt to escape. 
The women had sunk on the ground, clinging to their children, 
with loud wailings ; some of the older hags adding much vitupera- 
tion of ‘the white devils’ to their lamentations. The men, with 
sullen, lowering looks, still grasped their weapons, as if they medi- 
tated resistance. Altogether there were perhaps a couple of 
hundred souls, encircled by the troopers with levelled carbines. 

‘Disarm them,’ ordered the major, and two of his band dis- 
mounted and collected the whole of the various weapons. A few 
of the native warriors made slight demonstrations of resistance, 
but the threatening carbines overawed them, and they all surren- 
dered their arms ; then they cast themselves on the ground and 
added their cries of despair to the wailings of the women. 


BRITISH JUSTICE 8t 

Grantley was now ordered to identify the murderers of the crew 
and passengers of the Mary. After a close examination he af- 
firmed that he recognised no one. The men were then made to 
stand up in a row apart from the women, and he was told to 
inspect them carefully and endeavour to point out any who were 
present at the massacre, or who pursued him along the beach. 
Once more he declared his inability to swear to any, 

* I am sorry to hear it,’ said the commander. ‘ We will now 
view the bodies ; perhaps you may be more successful there.’ 

The three slain were laid side by side, and the young man at- 
tentively observed them. With distorted features bearing still the 
impress of the death-agony, they gazed open-eyed at the sun 
shining full in their dead faces. 

With a shudder Roland stepped close and gazed at each, then 
turned abruptly away. 

‘ It ’s no use, sir,’ he said ; ‘ for aught I can tell, I may have never 
seen any of them before.’ 

Again the major said, ‘ I am sorry for it,’ and there was a deeper 
meaning in his tone than before. 

‘ Grantley,’ he added, ‘ if you could have sworn to one or more 
of these dead wretches as having been engaged in the slaughter 
of your fellow-passengers, it would have made my task much 
lighter. As you can identify neither dead nor living, I must do my 
duty and accept a grave responsibility.’ 

Leaving the dead, they again returned to the camp, where the 
captives were arranged before the officer. Efforts were then made 
to elicit from them some information respecting the wreck and 
subsequent massacre. First of all a search was made for any 
relics of the unfortunates in their possession. This resulted in the 
discovery of the remains of a blanket wrapped round an infant, a 
worn-out knife, a broken cutlass-blade, an old axe, and a few bat- 
tered tin utensils. Obviously these had belonged to Europeans, 
and possibly to the ship’s company. 

Grantley was asked if he could recognise any of them as having 
formed part of the articles that were carried from the wreck, but 
was unable to do so. Pointing to these, the troopers most con- 
versant with the ways of the aboriginals made inquiries by signs 
and the peculiar ‘ pidgin-English ’ early adopted by the whites 
when communicating with native tribes. Apparently understand- 
ing their desire to obtain more of the relics, the blacks showed the 
utmost readiness to produce all they had ; more old cutlasses, 
axes, remains of blankets and sails were forthcoming, also some 
portions of fire-arms. 

Poor wretches ! they little comprehended that they were thus 
volunteering evidence against themselves. Persistent efforts were 
then made to draw from them some admission respecting the fate 
of the ship’s company, but no reliable information could be ob- 
tained. There were many signs and much talking, in which the 
sea, the Coorong, and the sandhills were evidently alluded to ; but 

F 


82 


PAVING THE WAY 


it was all very unintelligible to the major. He watched for any 
recognition of Roland by any of them, and ultiniately came to the 
conclusion that a considerable number knew him again, particu- 
larly the women and young people. He at last gave up in despair 
all hope of being able to bring home the crime to any particular 
individuals, and gave instructions to cut down a couple of stout 
saplings which grew near the margin of the lake. When set in 
the ground they stood about eight feet high. A cross-beam was 
put on the top, over which two ropes were flung, each with a run- 
ning noose at the end ; when completed, the thing looked greatly 
fike a gallows. Two men were then pointed out by the major 
among the group of savages, and they were led, after their arms 
had been tied behind their backs, under the cross-beam, and the 
nooses put round their necks. 

The tribe was then ranged in front, and the major in deep, stern 
tones told them that, having murdered some white people, the 
subjects of the great Queen over the sea, he had been sent to 
punish that wicked act. It was so long since it had happened, 
that they might have thought it forgotten, but the law of his people 
never slept. They must therefore take warning and never more 
molest white men and women, but be good and peaceful subjects. 
There was a great deal more, the speaker beginning in the usual 
broken English with a mixture of signs, but ending his peroration 
in the purest Anglo-Saxon. 

A brief pause followed, and then came the command, ‘ Up with 
them,’ and two struggling figures were suspended in the air. 

‘ God have mercy on their souls ! ’ added the major. 

The face of each Englishman there seemed set as hard as that 
of the leader himself, as they stood motionless until the welcome 
order was given, ‘ March ! ’ Then with a sigh of relief they rode 
from the spot, leaving the stricken tribe alone with its dead. 
Stunned, surprised, and confounded at the tragic termination of 
the scene, which few of them seemed to anticipate, they covered 
their heads or sank to the ground. Presently, loud and piercing, 
the wild wail that every tribe raises in the moment of sorrow and 
affliction sounded on the ears of the avengers as they withdrew 
from the scene of what was then considered justice, necessary 
though imperfect. 

The major was very thoughtful, and spoke scarcely a word until 
the camp was formed that night. Then, over a savoury weed, his 
brow relaxed and he unburdened himself thus — 

‘ Grantley, I have but carried out the instructions given me — and 
a soldier can do no less — without questioning the right or wrong of 
the matter. If you could have shown me the actual culprits, I 
would have hung them with pleasure ; but as you couldn’t, or 

wouldn’t (I ’m d d if I know which), I had to pick out the two 

I thought most likely to be guilty, and hang pour encourager 
Ics autres. After all, what else could be done ? You saw the utter 
impossibility of proving that any one of them had taken a part in 


BRITISH JUSTICE 83 

the murders ; yet we know that most of them had ; and if some- 
thing had not been done, they might have thought they could go 
on killing us with impunity.’ 

‘ I am not going to argue the point,’ replied Roland. ‘ I have no 
reason to feel anything but a desire for vengeance on this tribe ; 
but I expect there is another side to the matter, and that is the 
one from which the blacks look at it.’ 

‘Possibly,’ replied the major. ‘At any rate, it has been a 
devilish unpleasant bit of work, and I ’m glad it’s over. However, 
somebody had to do it.’ 

Thus spoke the officer, who simply carried into effect the decrees 
of the Executive of the country. It was not for him to inquire into 
the efficacy. or justice of hanging men in presence of their tribes- 
men who were, in all probability, ignorant of the reason of their 
suffering thus. The farce of judging them by our laws and 
addressing them, without the slightest knowledge of their language, 
on the enormity of doing what their own customs approve and even 
enjoin as a duty, is evident enough ; but, even after the lapse of 
long years, it is hard to suggest what else could have been done, if 
any action was to be taken at all. It does, however, seem a satire 
upon our boasted civilisation that we could find no other way of 
meting out justice than the rough-and-ready method adopted in 
this case. At best, acts like these are but a travesty upon the 
majesty of the law which can but grieve right-minded men, and 
for which the reputation and fair fame of the colony have 
deservedly suffered. 

‘Yes, Grantley, I will gladly stay at your house to-night,’ said 
the major, as they returned to Encounter Bay. ‘ I have to pick 
up my men and maybe a prisoner or two before leaving for 
Adelaide.’ 

During the evening Miss Grantley was anxious to learn 
full particulars of the journey and how the murderers had been 
punished. 

‘ I really want to know, major, because I almost feel as if one 
of my own relations had been killed. Roland and his mother 
were in the ship, and he only just escaped.’ 

‘ Well, madam, when we had captured nearly the whole of the 
Coorong tribe, we found unmistakable relics of some ship’s com- 
pany, probably that of the Mary^ in their camp. Tolerably strong 
circumstantial evidence against them, I think ? ’ 

‘ Certainly,’ replied the lady ; ‘ but you surely did not kill them 
all ? I presume you selected a few you found in possession of the 
articles — that, it appears to me, would have been the proper and 
merciful course — and hanged the worst of them.’ 

‘ That was what I intended,’ said the major with a grave face. 
‘The first memento we discovered was claimed by a desperate 
villain, perhaps two years old, of chubby aspect and with a dreadful 
scowl. I regret, now that I know your opinion coincides with 
mine, that I did not incontinently hang the desperado.’ 


84 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ Nonsense, sir ; you would do nothing of the sort, of course. 
Hang a child, indeed ! ’ 

‘Then, madam, what would you have advised?’ said the 
officer. 

‘ Punish the leaders, of course,’ promptly answered the lady. 

‘ Precisely,’ replied he. ‘ I had two of them arrested and hanged 
before the others as a warning to the tribe to be of good behaviour 
for the future.’ 

‘But why those particular two?’ she persisted. ‘Had you any 
proof against them?’ 

‘ Certainly, the very strongest in the opinion of your adorable 
sex. They were the most villainous-looking of the lot.’ ^ 

‘O major, major!’ cried the horrified lady, ‘you have hanged 
the unfortunate men because they were ugly ! ’ 


CHAPTER XIV 

A HOMERIC COMBAT 

Among the retainers of ‘Talkie’ were a native family, consisting 
of three adults and two juveniles, the head of which was Big Tom, 
already mentioned, the prefix being given to distinguish him from 
Little Tom, a fellow-countryman engaged at the Fishery. Big Tom, 
as his title implies, was a tall, fine specimen of the Australian 
aborigine such as the white man found him, before the conibined 
effects of our vaunted civilisation, alcohol and disease, had blighted 
and debased him. 

With broad shoulders, ample chest, and narrow flanks, his form 
presented an appearance of litheness and activity seldom seen in 
the European. Certainly his features were not what we call 
classical. Possibly his nose might have been so before the fish- 
bone thrust through the cartilage had drawn it into the shape that 
the connoisseurs of beauty among his people esteem perfection ; 
but this is doubtful. The probability is that a persistent course 
of such treatment for generations had resulted in compelling 
stubborn nature to mould the aboriginal nose to the desired flat 
type. His teeth, however, were splendid ; there was nothing they 
could not crunch up with perfect ease that could be considered an 
article of food. If he desired to crack the hard round kernel of 
the native peach, now known as the ‘ quondong,’ why use the stone 
at his hand, when those superb grinders had only to lightly close 
and the thing was done ? As to the bones of the kangaroo, the 
emu, or the white man’s sheep, when he desired to extract their 
succulent marrow — crunch, — why, it neither required thought nor 

1 A fact. 


A HOMERIC COMBAT 


85 

effort. Then the broad expanse of his open face, particularly the 
mouth, gave the more room for the good-humour that pervaded 
it. Tom’s eyes were perhaps not his best point ; they scarcely 
shone like lamps of the soul, as human orbs ought to do. No, 
their illuminative power could not be considered strong enough 
for that ; but there was nothing that he required of them to 
which they were not equal. His great feature we have left to the 
last, if his beard can be correctly so described. It was black, 
long, and flowing, and swept over his tatooed chest in untended 
glory. 

Tom as a rule scorned day-wages ; he was a contractor. If you 
wanted a field of wheat cut, you went for him, and if not under 
agreement to Mr. Grantley, to whom he always considered his first 
services due, he would name his price ; and, if accepted, when you 
woke up next morning, Tom and his lubras would be reposing in 
his camp — for to work when the sun was high he considered to be 
‘ all same stupid white fellow,’ and quite beneath the dignity and 
common sense of an aboriginal — but the greater part of the crop 
would be already reaped. The rapid sweep of his reaping-hook, 
assisted by the scarcely less effective blades of Martha and Mary, 
had wrought the transformation. 

Martha and Mary were his wives, both joined to him in lawful 
matrimony according to the rites of aboriginal law and custom. 
Both were about the same age, and nature had in their case shown 
an unusual impartiality in her distribution of charms, which per- 
haps accounted for the absolute impartiality with which their lord 
divided his favours and attentions between them. Two girls much 
of a size and age were the offspring of this happy marriage, and 
neither Tom nor his wives seemed to know or care to which of 
the mothers they specially belonged. 

No one ever heard the slightest quarrel in their camp of any 
kind, and the lord’s authority was paramount. It might be en- 
forced occasionally by the employment of the usual instrument 
of domestic correction, the waddy ; but, if so, the taps must have 
been comparatively light, to judge by the condition of the heads, 
or ‘ cocoa-nuts,’ of the ladies. Tom was supposed by the whites 
to exercise great influence over the Encounter Bay tribe, and it 
was even said that the title of king had been bestowed on him, 
but somehow it did not stick — possibly because his height scarcely 
exceeded six feet, whereas another prominent savage towered five 
or six inches above him. Big Solomon, whom we shall shortly 
see leading his countrymen in the battle’s front, was the name of 
this distinguished individual. He rarely left the main assemblage 
of his people, whereas the rival claimant to the throne, or rather 
the empty title, preferred a more domesticated and retired life 
with his two better halves. Tom, too, though a noted warrior, 
was not in it, in the estimation of the tribe, with Solomon. The 
latter, like Saul, towered a head and shoulders above his brethren. 
Active, bold, and skilful, his powers were the theipe of both blacks 


86 


PAVING THE WAY 


and whites. When his gigantic frame, unclad, and with nought 
but a tuft of feathers to cover his nakedness, was ornamented with 
full war-paint, and he had on his left arm his heavy shield of thick 
gum bark, pointed at either end, while in his right he wielded an 
enormous waddy, or long-barbed spear, he looked the type of the 
new land, the very embodiment of warlike savagery. 

One-armed Charley had been another of their noted leaders. 
A famed fighter before he lost his arm, he neither lost courage 
nor skill thereafter. When a young man, while he was diving 
from an outer reef for cray-fish, a shark had torn away the flesh 
of his left arm almost from the elbow to the wrist, leaving the 
nearly stripped bone. In time it healed, but was, of course, use- 
less. So sensitive was he to this disfigurement, that he always 
wore a cloak of opossum skins over his left shoulder to cover the 
mutilated stump. What his disposition had been previous to this 
accident the whites could not judge ; but in their experience he 
was a morose, silent man, known, in spite of his disabled arm, as 
a demon to fight. That this reputation was not undeserved, he 
had shown a few months before his death in a long celebrated 
combat that took place between the tribes of Encounter Bay and 
the Lakes, or, as the latter was frequently called, the Wellington 
tribe. As has been the case since the days of Helen of Troy, a 
woman was at the bottom of it, of course. The Encounter Bay 
tribe had abducted a handsome young lubra, whom the warriors 
of the lower Murray claimed as their own. It appeared that she 
really belonged to neither party, but was captured when a child 
from a small tribe on the borders of the Tatiara country, during 
a raid made years ago by a combined band of the present anta- 
gonists, on one of the few occasions when they acted in conjunction. 
The matter was complicated by the Lakes men urging a prior 
right by asserting that both she and her mother had been stolen 
from them by the Tatiara tribe at a still earlier period. 

For months there had been much wrangling. Many councils 
had been held, and heralds had passed continually between the 
rival parties, with no practical result. At last a few young men, 
led by Yelcoo, a youth who aspired to make tke dusky Helen his 
bride, made a secret night-raid and carried her off. The Lakes 
claimants insisted that she must be given up to them until an 
arrangement was arrived at as to her future disposal, a demand 
which the Encounter Bay raiders laughed to scorn. The older 
men supported them in this, as winning a wife by the strong hand 
or by stratagem is quite in accordance with the traditions and 
customs of their people from time immemorial. 

The despoiled tribes were in a state of furious indignation. 

That, during the festivities immediately preceding the young 
woman’s assignment to one of their chiefs, an insignificant band 
of their hereditary enemies should dare to enter the very camp 
and carry her off was an insult deeply to be avenged. 

Hard on the flying footsteps of the retreating marauders 


A HOMERIC COMBAT 


87 

messengers followed, bearing a fierce declaration of war : * Not 
as on many past occasions a mere clash of arms, when they had 
in pity for the weakness and impotence of their foes suffered 
them to live on, but a war of extermination to the Encounter 
Bay reptiles.’ 

The camp of the Bay tribe was a scene of intense excitement. 
The old men met solemnly in debate, prolonging their discussion 
night after night. The young men furbished up worn weapons 
and fashioned for themselves new ones. Expeditions to obtain 
material for the construction of shields, spears, and waddies were 
sent into the valleys and scrub. Paints, oils, feathers for the 
fitting ornamentation of the fighters were sought for far and wide. 
As the appointed day of battle approached, night was made 
hideous by the ever-recurring corroboree, in which their courage 
was stimulated to fever-heat. Daily they rehearsed the coming 
combat, depicting their own heroic deeds and the ignominious 
defeat and flight of their foes. They would charge with splendid 
effect upon the imaginary enemy. Then some of a waggish 
turn would simulate their flight, throwing away every .weapon 
and ornament with a whimsical exaggeration of the utmost 
terror. 

The Australian aborigine is a born mimic, and these efforts 
invariably invoked, as they deserved, the loudest expressions of 
approval. There had been many previous battles between the 
opposing tribes, generally on a sort of neutral ground near the 
boundaries of their respective possessions ; but to mark the ex- 
tremity to which they meant to carry this conflict, the river natives 
had intimated their intention of seeking their antagonists at their 
very camp, on the shores of the Big Water. Could temerity go 
further? At length the eventful day arrived, and the bedizened 
warriors of the great river could be seen in gallant array marching 
in a body of some two hundred strong over the open ground. At 
their approach the Encounter Bay men left their camp and de- 
ployed on the field of battle. There was no attempt at surprise, 
or to take advantage of cover or the inequality of the ground. 
This was to be a fair and open encounter of the contending 
parties, in which personal bravery and skill in the use of arms, 
not strategy, were to be the test of victory. When within hearing, 
shouts and yells of abuse and defiance were freely interchanged. 
There was also much idle pantomime, in which weapons were 
brandished and insulting gestures and epithets indulged in. Vain- 
glorious boasting, too, of their past deeds and performances, in 
which each warrior lauded his own powers and defamed his 
adversary, occupied a long time. 

The Encounter Bay men were reminded of the numerous fights 
in which they had licked the dust at the feet of their foes in 
grovelling abasement. They were told that now they would be 
consumed like leaves before the fierce bush fire, and their women 
taken to fill the camps of brave men. But if any of the scum 


88 


PAVING THE WAY 


should escape by reason of the fleetness of their legs, a few of 
the old hags would be left them as a solace. 

The river warriors were taunted in their turn as being unable 
to protect their women from a few boys, as witness the girl now 
before them. How could they possibly take her back, when the 
warriors of the Big Water stood by with spear in hand ? No ; the 
river wombats were always good at talking ; they had long tongues 
but small hearts. 

There was much more which the modest pen of the historian 
refuses to chronicle. The men of Encounter Bay now pressed 
closer, with their chosen leaders in front. 

There stalked the big Solomon, looking more colossal still in 
his full panoply, his huge body divested of every garment, but 
covered with alternate stripes of white, red, and jet-black paint, 
which barred his brawny chest and circled round his eyes, arms, 
and legs. His beard was burnt off, but the hair of his head re- 
mained, adorned with tall, waving feathers. In his left hand he 
bore his waddies and shield, the latter, like himself, ornamented 
with gay circles of paint. His right grasped a long and heavy 
barbed spear. 

Over more than half the distance separating the two opposing 
forces he steadily strode on ; then drove his spear into the earth 
as a sign that there he had taken his dauntless stand. And there 
he stood, a striking figure, breathing war and defiance. Big Tom, 
One-armed Charlie, and some other chiefs followed his example 
in like proud and warlike adornment. 

The challenge was not long unanswered ; a warrior nearly as 
tall and distinguished as the opposing chief led on the river men 
to the assault, and in a few seconds the air was dark with flying 
weapons. 

Wonderful was the skill with which the shields warded off the 
glancing spears. Wounds were given and received in silence on 
both sides ; but when the first impetuosity of the combat had died out 
and the contending parties were drawn apart, the tall spear was 
still standing in the same place with the great chief beside it. 

Weapons were collected for a renewal of the strife, while 
defiances were hurled at each other by the hostile parties. Some 
who had received severe wounds retired from the hurly-burly, 
which soon began to rage again, the foes, however, now keeping 
a greater distance from each other. Greater attention at this 
stage of the fight was paid to the correct aiming of the weapons, 
as much of the martial ardour of the warriors for hand-to-hand 
fighting had become exhausted. 

The older and more experienced combatants defended them- 
selves with consummate skill. At length a light spear with grass- 
tree stem, flung from a wo7nmera with terrific force by the leader 
of the river band, transfixed a youth near Solomon, killing him 
on the spot. It projected behind his back more than a foot, still 
vibrating with the impetus of its flight. 



There stalked the big Solomon 



fVJ 




A HOMERIC COMBAT 


89 

The chief gazed for a moment at his dead kinsman, then plucked 
his spear from the ground and rushed to avenge his death. Re- 
gardless of the showers of blows received on his buckler, he 
approached his foe ; then, shaking the long weapon until it 
quivered again, he launched it straight at the opposing leader. 
Fairly and well it was caught on the guarding shield; but, too 
heavy, and thrown at too short a distance, to be turned, it tore 
through the tough, hard bark and sank into the broad breast 
behind. At the same instant One-armed Charlie had slain an- 
other famous warrior, receiving himself a fearful wound in the act. 

The fall of their chief, followed immediately by the loss of a 
second hero only less noted, was too much for the river men, 
and they began to retire, though without disorder, and carrying 
their dead with them. Seeing this, and also that the lubra, the 
innocent cause of the strife, was standing near with some women, 
the savage to whom she had been assigned rushed up and drove 
his spear through her. ‘ If not for me,’ he shouted fiercely, ‘ then 
not for another.’ He caught the body ere it fell in his arms, 
pressed it hard, and fled away.^ 

There was no attempt at pursuit, as both parties had suffered 
severely and were considerably exhausted. Each of the tribes 
concerned subsequently declared that none of their injured died ; 
whether this was so or not it would be hard to say. In civilised 
warfare is there not the same difficulty in obtaining reliable 
information of the respective losses of the opposing armies ? 

The river tribe asserted that it was a drawn battle, and in 
proof thereof brought forward the fact that they carried off their 
wounded and slain ; they also maintained that they had achieved 
their object in the death of the unhappy woman who had caused 
the dispute. 

The coast tribe, on the other hand, claimed the victory on the 
ground that they had killed two of their enemies’ men for one of 
their own, and remained in possession of the field. The woman had 
certainly been killed, but that was a small matter ; had their foes 
succeeded in carrying her off, it would have been very different. 

Such was the end of the famous fight between the two southern 
rival tribes, the last of any importance they ever fought. 

The dead warriors were accorded every honour by their people. 
With great lamentation and loud extolling of their matchless 
courage and many virtues, their remains were passed through the 
fiery ordeal in full council assembled in much the same manner 
as were those of One-armed Charlie, who never recovered from 
his wound, but himself died a few weeks later. 

But, apart from the grilling, have we not often heard something 
similar by the graves of our own people whose virtues in life were 
not remarkable ? 

As for the slain woman — pooh ! nobody cared about her now. 
In life she had her uses, but dead . . . 

1 A fact. 


90 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XV 

pet’s troubles begin 

‘Aunt,’ said Roland a few days after his return from the 
Coorong, ‘ I want to introduce you to some of my retainers. It is 
only a short walk. They have just come back from a hunting 
excursion, and are anxious to see the “big one white lubra.’” 

Miss Grantley was delighted, and presently found herself in 
front of a circular kind of erection made of boughs and grass laid 
on sticks, which were stuck in the ground and sloped to a point at 
the summit. Nearly half of the primitive building was left open, 
so that there was no difficulty in seeing into the interior. Within 
sat Tom, Martha, Mary, and the little girls, all more or less 
unattired. As the visitors drew near, all except Tom came to 
meet them. He stayed behind to dress himself — that is, to put on 
a shirt. The ladies of the family, no doubt believing that ‘ beauty 
unadorned is adorned the most,’ came forward smiling and without 
a blush between the four of them. In their delight they would 
have embraced the lady, and did in the most affectionate way lay 
hands upon and stroke her fine garments, while her nephew looked 
on with an amused and quizzical smile. Tom now appeared fully 
attired in a particularly short twill shirt Roland had given him, 
which he now wore for the first time. 

‘Big Tom, his wives Martha and Mary, aunt, and their two 
daughters,’ said their master ; ‘ and a most estimable family 
they are.’ 

‘Nephew, I can only say that I am both shocked and surprised 
that you can permit them to go about so indecently clad.’ 

‘ I really thought they were not clad at all,’ he interrupted slyly. 

‘You know what I mean, sir. Of course they are not clothed, 
and it must be seen to at once, before they come up to the 
house. I am ashamed of you that it has not been attended to 
long since.’ 

‘ Where was I to obtain the petticoats, aunt ?— make them ? ’ 

‘ Yes, sir ; I daresay you have not always been nearly so well 
employed,’ replied the indignant lady, and she began to retrace 
her steps, the native family, who noticed Roland’s scarcely restrained 
laughter, merrily following. Observing this, she stopped and told 
them to ‘ Remain at home,’ imperatively. Then she walked on 
again ; but seeing the totally unconcerned way in which they still 
came on, ‘ Do go back,’ she said imploringly. Roland had been 
compelled to stay behind with Tom, to avoid exploding outright. 
They were now close to the house, and in a moment would appear 
before the pure eyes of the maidens whom she had brought up ; 
they must never be allowed to come ip contact with such depravity. 


PET’S TROUBLES BEGIN 


91 


At her wits’ end, she turned frantically to Roland, and, screaming 
‘ Send them away, nephew, or I ’ll change my will,’ she fairly fled 
into the cottage. 

‘That one cranky, mine think it,’ said Tom, while the lubras 
and girls laughed with immense delight to see the convulsions 
that Grantley could control no longer. 

The paroxysm somewhat over, he heard his name called from 
the house, where he found his sisters with preternaturally grave 
faces and some articles of feminine attire. 

‘ Aunt says you are to give these to the natives and tell them to 
put them on instantly,’ said Maria, pursing in her lips bravely. 

‘ But they won’t know how, and I can’t show them. Ask aunt 
what is to be done,’ he replied in such loud tones that he knew 
she must hear through the wooden partition. But that justly 
incensed lady would not be drawn ; and whether the young joker 
could instruct them how to don the mysterious garments or not, 
the Australian matrons shortly appeared, to their own inexpressible 
pride, in the conventional ‘ body ’ and petticoats. 

‘ Aunt,’ said Roland shortly afterwards, when she was less sore 
about the episode we have related, ‘ I presume you will endeavour 
to Christianise these poor benighted savages. You cannot approve 
of Tom having two wives. It’s not allowed by our religion, and 
therefore must be desperately wicked.’ 

‘ There is no doubt about that, nephew ; and since it troubles 
you, you had better prevent it,’ she sarcastically replied. 

‘ I have seriously expostulated with the husband,’ he answered 
demurely, ‘ but he says “ that one Martha and Mary berry much 
likum me.” You may be more successful, as one of their own sex, 
with the wives.’ 

‘ Why were they called by these names ? ’ said Miss Grantley, 
quite ignoring the latter part of his observation. 

‘ After the sisters of Lazarus, I ’ve been told ; some people 
profess to see a resemblance between the characters.’ 

‘Two sisters ! Worse and worse; what dreadful immorality! 
It ought not to be allowed.’ 

‘ Roland, I won’t let you go on making fun of aunt. You know 
that Martha and Mary are not sisters, as you implied. You told 
us the other day that the blacks are very particular that blood- 
relations, however distant, shall not marry,’ said Maria, as her 
brother retired from the interview with considerable amusement. 
‘ It ’s really too bad to tease the dear old thing so,’ she continued, 
following him out. 

‘ Does her good, my dear ; she requires an opening for her 
superlative righteousness, and I supply it. Besides, you two believe 
in the efficacy of missionary work among the heathen, and the 
sooner you are disabused of the idea the better.’ 

A few days later Roland had the war carried into his own camp 
in a rather disconcerting fashion. 

‘ I have been with your sisters to thank the Cleeve family, 


92 


PAVING THE WAY 


nephew, for their kindness to you. The aunt seems rather a 
superior sort of woman for her station, and the girl’ — Miss Grantley 
went on, casting a sidelong glance at him — ‘ is perhaps too pretty 
for her position ; it is a pity her education has been so neglected, 
but I daresay she knows enough to qualify her to become a small 
farmer’s wife.’ 

Steadying his voice, but for the life of him unable to prevent a 
tremor in it, Roland replied : ‘ I am sorry to hear it, because I am 
sure that not one of the family desires thanks ; and unless you 
carefully avoided any reference to attempting to repay the obliga- 
tion, they will be greatly pained. As to the prettiness of Miss 
Cleeve’ — and he felt that he had better leave this part of the 
assault unanswered — ‘ I was not aware that any woman could be 
too beautiful.’ 

‘To reply to your last observation first,’ said his aunt, ‘that is 
just where you men make a great mistake : good looks in girls of 
the lower orders generally turn their heads, and very often the 
heads of silly young men, who profess to admire them. They 
become so infatuated with the attentions paid them, that they con- 
sider themselves too good for men of their own station. I shall 
be very sorry for that child, very sorry,’ added Miss Grantley with 
emphasis, ‘if any of the gentlemen in the neighbourhood are 
foolish enough to take notice of her ; at present I think she is 
really a very respectable young person. As to your disapproval 
of my thanking the family for their kindness to you, my dear 
Roland, I am surprised at you. It was due to myself as an older 
member of our family. The Grantleys of Grantley Hall should 
not remain under an obligation to their inferiors for one moment 
longer than is absolutely necessary. I have already written to 
your uncle, as the head of the house, on the subject, and fully 
expect that he will insist on handsomely remunerating Mr. Cleeve 
for the expense and trouble he has been put to on your account.’ 

‘Then, by Heaven,’ broke out the young man, ‘you must stop 
anything of the kind, or I will repudiate not only the deed, but my 
name and family as well.’ 

‘ No, you won’t, my dear, do anything so absurd,’ coolly replied 
the lady. ‘ In the first place, you are too proud of your grand old 
name. In the second, there is too good a prospect of your inherit- 
ing the estate, for you to risk losing it by offending your uncle.’ 

With a muttered oath Grantley left the room, baffled and dis- 
concerted, yet, in spite of himself, impressed and elated with the 
prospect, hinted at by his aunt, of the fine old property ever 
becoming his. He was angry with himself for the feeling, too, 
knowing that the clever woman with whom he had to deal would 
use it to mould him to her will. It was evident that she knew 
more about the matter than he did. He was well aware that she 
was in regular communication with Sir Archibald, and he was 
doubtless the subject of discussion, possibly was even now on his 
trial. 


PET’S TROUBLES BEGIN 


93 


* Petrel— there is the trouble,’ he said to himself. The conver- 
sation to-night had been for a purpose — a settled purpose on the 
part of his keen-witted relative, and he had innocently dropped 
into the trap by showing his love for the girl. 

‘ That ’cute old woman will quite understand now that I am fond 
of Pet, and will draw her own conclusions as to what effect playing 
the chance of my inheriting the Grantley estate against her will 
have. Damn it, I am glad I’m off to Sydney to-morrow ; it will give 
time for things to settle down somehow. Curse the old meddler ! 
Why can’t she leave me to take my own course ? Poor little 
Petrel ! I can’t and won’t give her up for a thousand estates.’ 

Yet while he vowed it he doubted himself 

This doubt increased when he thought of that convict stain 
attaching to her father’s name of which Major Cuthbert had 
spoken. ‘ Miss Grantley of the Grantleys of Grantley Hall cannot 
yet be aware of that, or it would have been driven home and 
clenched — that is very sure. Well, sufficient for the day is the 
bother thereof ; — now to say farewell to my darling before I start ; 
there she is at her father’s door. 

‘ Petrel, my Pet, I am come to say good-bye ; my darling, now 
can I ever leave you ? ’ 

‘ O Roily, your aunt has been here and your sisters. She is 
such a grand lady, and — and — I don’t like her,’ bursting into tears. 

‘ Nor do I, dear ; an old cat, who puts her hidden claws into 
other people’s business. But what did she say ? ’ 

‘ I hardly know, but dad and auntie were dreadfully offended at 
the way she thanked them about you. Auntie said she patronised 
them as if they were poor people in England, and hinted that 
they should be rewarded — wasn’t it cruel ? ’ 

‘ The devil take her! ’ said her nephew. ‘ I feared it would be so, 
when I heard she had put her oar in, in her high and mighty way. 
But, Pet, what did she or the girls say to you ? ’ 

‘ Never mind. Roily,’ hanging her pretty head : ‘that does not 
matter.’ 

‘ Yes, it does, dear ; I must know before I go.’ 

‘ I don’t want to part you from your family ; you are the only 
son, and your sisters say they are so fond of you,’ sobbed poor 
Petrel ; ‘ but I am fond of you too.’ Then more incoherently still : 
‘ They say that there is a young lady in England you are to marry 
by-and-by.’ 

‘ The very first word I have ever heard about it, I swear,’ he 
vehemently answered. ‘ It is not true ; I love you, Pet, and no 
other girl under the sun, in the new world or the old.’ 

Nestling in his arms, she looked into his earnest face and was 
comforted. How could she doubt when her own true heart beat so 
loyally and lovingly towards the hero of her first dream of love 1 

******* 

A few days afterwards. Miss Grantley again perused the follow- 


94 PAVING THE WAY 

ing letter which she had recently received from her brother, Sir 
Archibald : — 

‘ Grantley Hall, Cumberland. 

‘ My dear Arabella, — My last acquainted you with the sad intelli- 
gence of the accident to my dear son Gerald in the hunting-field. I told 
you then that even if the worst was averted it was probable the ill 
effects would be permanent. In this my fears have been verified in the 
bitterest way. The doctors unanimously state that he must remain par- 
tially paralysed for the rest of his life, and that, if he ever did marry, it 
would be quite impossible that he could be the father of a child. He 
may live for years, but they bid me be prepared for an early termination 
to his sufferings. 

‘ Under these painful circumstances, it is my duty as the head of our 
ancient house to make the best possible arrangements to ensure that a fit- 
ting successor to our long line of ancestors should fill the place that I hoped 
would devolve upon my son and his heirs. You know that I looked to our 
brother John’s sons as the next heirs, not only by right of succession, but 
as being nearer to my love ; but since their father’s death these two young 
men have been behaving in a most scandalous manner — drinking, gam- 
bling, and even worse. I now therefore turn to the son of our other 
brother, poor Roger, who died on the voyage to Australia. I am in 
receipt of your letter saying that he is a fine young fellow, perhaps none 
the worse for the romantic experience he has undergone. His mother I 
detested, and never could understand how a Grantley could be such a fool 
as to make her his wife. She came of fair blood, but certainly not equal 
to ours, and then he had the opportunity of contracting a splendid alliance 
if he had chosen. No wonder I never forgave him for rejecting it for the 
most fleeting of good looks, with nothing else to recommend the woman. 
Were she alive now, I really do not think I could bring myself to select 
her son as my heir-presumptive. To instal her in Grantley Hall would be 
too much. Fortunately her death removes this objection. My little girl 
is now sixteen, and both good and pretty. If young Roland is all you say — 
and I am sure that I may depend upon your judgment in a matter of such 
importance to our family — it would please me to see them form an alliance, 
thus probably keeping the title, name, and estate intact in the family. I 
include the title, because it will scarcely be held long, if they ever succeed 
to it, by either of my scapegrace nephews, the next heirs, as they are both 
already broken in health and are rapidly killing themselves. It is my 
most ardent desire that the young people should come together, but still I 
do not make it an imperative condition to Roland’s inheriting the estate. 
If he prefers to engage himself to another lady of untainted name and 
good family, so be it. Heaven forbid that my daughter should be forced 
upon any man. She will in any case be amply provided for. Since, 
however, much of the scum of our country has been involuntarily sent or 
has naturally gravitated to the Australian colonies, there is a danger of a 
young man becoming involved in an engagement of an objectionable 
character, unbecoming the future master of Grantley Hall. My bones 
would undoubtedly turn in their grave if such a dreadful contingency as I 
have ventured to contemplate should arise.— I remain, your affectionate 
brother, Archibald Grantley.* 

‘Yes,’ thought Miss Grantley, ‘I did quite right not to tell 
Roland what is in that letter. It was much better to hint to him, 


PET’S TROUBLES BEGIN 


95 


and her too, what a future may be his. He will have time to 
think it well over while he is away ; and even if he does not forget his 
pretty little rustic, he may see on which side his bread is buttered. 
Quite a vulgar kind of proverb, by the way ; but no one heard me, 
and it is very expressive. I am certainly acting in the best 
interests of Roland in separating him from that girl, of whom he 
would tire in a week, and giving him Grantley Hall and a title, 
thus killing two birds with one stone — another rather vulgar pro- 
verb, I declare, because it ’s only low people who kill birds with 
stones ; our class shoot them. Then, again, I shall like to go back 
to the old house, and Roland would be obliged to do something 
for me, in common decency. Yes, he must go home and marry 
his cousin. Sir Archibald’s girl. At any rate^’ she added with 
emphasis, ‘ he shall not marry this one.’ 

Poor Petrel, though her lover has gone, is singing blithely, all 
unconscious of the letter quoted above, as she mounts the Bluff to 
the old ‘ look-out ’ where Roland and she have so often wandered 
together hand-in-hand before he became a man and, like a hero, 
went out to seek his fortune. A whale is in sight, and she has 
come with much of the old excitement to watch the dear dad once 
more brave the perils of the chase. She anticipates no disaster ; 
he has too often dared a similar danger with impunity for her to 
feel any special anxiety now. 

The day is calm, and there are two boats racing along side by 
side, so that help is near if any accident should happen. In the 
Bay on the outer side of the Bluff, and between it and West Island, 
are two whales. 

‘ A cow with her calf,’ says Ben, the look-out man, ‘ always the 
most dangerous to take.’ 

There are altogether four boats out, the one which is racing the 
Headman’s boat being from the opposition fishery at the Nob. 
Both crews are straining every nerve to fasten first, having now 
rivalry to whet their ardour. Cleeve’s other boat is far away, 
down off Seal Rock, while the fourth is just leaving the Police 
Point. 

Idly the whales play and disport themselves with awkward gam- 
bols, their huge forms showing on the surface of the water as they 
roll and toss about with their great black backs glistening in the 
sun. There is a moment’s pause, as if danger is seen or scented, 
and then away they go side by side, making for the open sea. 
The Headman sees their intention and steers to cut them off ; and 
now ensues a race between the boat propelled by its seven oars 
and the monsters of the deep. At the reef they double back, 
apparently fearing to cross, though the water is deep, and the same 
desperate struggle back to the Bluff follows. Once more the 
monsters turn, and again the boat cuts them off from the open sea. 
In the shallow water close to the rocks their huge heads and 
backs rise to the surface, and they turn again. Jack the Harpooner 
making a futile attempt to fasten as the Headman swings the 


96 


PAVING THE WAY 


boat round. Away once more, every man bending desperately 
over his oar, while the other boat still follows close. 

With flushed face and eager eyes Petrel watches each movement 
of her dearly loved sire, her heart filled more with pride than with 
anxiety. She now runs down, however, to the rocks directly over- 
looking the scene of the chase, which she recognises as one of 
more than ordinary danger as well as interest. What if the mon- 
sters rush on that frail boat kept daringly across the only way of 
escape between them and safety out in the wide, open ocean? 
Repeatedly failing to pass unmolested, they will surely at last dash 
their pursuers to fragments in their frightened fury. ‘Oh, dad, 
let them go ! ’ she rather thought than said. 

At the reef the beasts swiftly doubled as before, the harpooner 
again launching his shaft in vain, as the craft swings round respon- 
sive to the powerful strokes of the Headman’s steering oar. Now 
they fly back again, but closer than before to the larger whale, and 
Petrel instinctively feels that her father means to steer alongside 
it, at all hazards, at the next turn under the Bluff. 

‘ Stick to it, men ! ’ shouts the Headman ; ‘another spurt, a few 
more strokes yet. Now, Jack, be ready as she doubles,’ and the 
boat glides within a few feet of the leviathan, as it rises from the 
submerged rocks at the brink of the breakers. The harpooner’s 
arm is raised, this time not in vain, and the weapon is driven un- 
erringly into the great bare back. In a moment, whale and boat, 
the latter half full of water, are tearing out to sea at tremendous 
speed. Meanwhile the calf has parted from its wounded dam, and, 
as it lies motionless on the water, the other crew row up to it and 
make fast before it has made a movement. Then it rushes after 
the other, and a scene of almost indescribable confusion ensues, 
lines becoming entangled and boat colliding with boat. Once, 
after clearing the ropes, the Headman only clings on to the end of 
his line by one hand, his powerful frame being strained to the 
utmost to sustain the tension. 

Exhausted with its struggles, the calf at length lies still, and the 
crew fast to it make a few strokes towards it. The old whale 
appears to understand its danger, and dashes at the approaching 
enemy. One awful moment, and then Petrel sees the crushed 
boat and struggling men strewing the sea. 

‘ Cut away and save life ! ’ is the Headman’s swift order, and his 
boat is immediately steered among the swimmers, regardless of 
the infuriated monster close by its dying young. There is a sweep 
of the vast carcase, and then, with a stroke of its tail, the rescuing 
craft and crew are tossed into the air. Men, oars, and fragments 
of the boat are flung up as if by an explosion, and then fall strew- 
ing the waters. 

With a face white as marble and as cold, Petrel gazes shudder- 
ing at the awful sight. It seems an age, but really is barely a 
minute, till the other two boats shoot up to the spot and begin 
picking up the drowning men. 


Petrel watching the whale hunt. 






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PET’S TROUBLES BEGIN 


97 


‘ Thank God ! ’ she murmurs. ‘ Oh, thank God ! ’ 

All are at length in the boats, and then the two — alas ! only two — 
rapidly row round the Blufif in the direction of home. From the 
rocks above the girl’s agonised eyes eagerly search for the splendid 
form she knows so well but will never see erect in its magnificent 
proportions again. Round the Bluff she runs still watching, and, 
taking up a position at the cove on a projecting rock, she awaits 
their approach. With wet eyes the rough men see her, and one 
with softened voice calls out, ‘ He is alive ! ’ She can see him too, 
lying in the stern, his white face propped against the side, with 
agony stamped upon it. He feebly waves his hand as the boat 
sweeps swiftly past. Sick at heart with heavy foreboding, she flies 
along the rocky shore to the landing to meet them. Stretched on 
a door, they carry the Headman up to the cottage, with both legs 
broken, and otherwise fearfully bruised and mangled. Of the other 
crew, two men are badly hurt about the body and a third has a leg 
badly fractured. 

‘ It was the opposition boat’s fault,’ said Jack the Harpooner to 
the unheeding girl, as she walked up by her father’s stretcher ; 
‘ they ought to have left the calf alone till we had killed the cow, 
then it would never have happened ; as it was, we should have 
been all right if we had not gone to help them.’ 

As she held her dear dad’s hand, the strong man suppressed 
his groans to save her sorrow. 

‘A bad job this, auntie,’ he said as they carried him into the 
house. 

The best advice possible was obtained — that of a young medical 
man lately arrived in the neighbourhood. But in the case of 
Cleeve and one other man he ordered the patients to be sent to 
Adelaide, as the only chance of saving life. 

* I will accompany them,’ he said, ‘ to render all the assistance 
in my power.’ 

Petrel would not leave her father, so she and her aunt went with 
him in one conveyance, while the other badly injured man and his 
attendant travelled in another, the doctor attending on both. 

Darkie was of great service. He at once offered both a vehicle 
and his services the moment he heard of the accident, swearing 
that Mr. Grantley had left instructions that the whole station was 
to be at the disposal of Mr. Cleeve if required. He acted as 
driver, and all through the long and painful journey whatever the 
most tender care and solicitude could do to alleviate the sufferings of 
the Headman he did. When he bade Petrel good-bye, she pressed 
his hand and with streaming eyes thanked him for all his kindness. 

‘ It ’s nothing,’ he said, turning his head away. ‘ If I could be in 
his place, I would, for your sake.’ Then he hurried off, and the 
same night was far on the road back to Encounter Bay. 

‘ She has the true grit,’ he muttered as he went, ‘ and in my 
opinion is far too good for any man living, Roland Grantley in- 
cluded ; but, like all of the best sort, she is not conscious of it.’ 

G 


98 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE STAR 

Roland Grantley, meanwhile, was in Sydney, and, truth to tell, 
the young man had found its pleasures taking a strong hold upon 
him. Young, handsome, and high-spirited, he found no lack of 
friends of either sex to help him to spend his time and energy. 
Hitherto he had easily excused his delay in the colonial metropolis 
on the plea of business, but now an inner monitor reminded him 
that the excuse was no longer a valid one. 

Enfield had weeks since gone up-country to inspect sheep for 
the overland journey, and now wrote to say that near Yass on 
Cootrala station he had found what they required at reasonable 
rates, delivery to be taken within a month. Teams, horses, and 
the whole turn-out could be bought better on the spot, and he had 
better tear himself away from the enervating delights of demoral- 
ising Sydney without delay. 

‘ He is quite right, and I will go to-morrow,’ Roland said ; but the 
next day came, and the next, and he still delayed his departure. 
Just at this juncture, however, a friend he had made received an 
imperative summons to return to his station, which was situated 
near Cootrala, and offered him a seat in his trap. This was too 
good an opportunity to be lost, so with many regrets our hero took 
his departure. 

‘You have a long journey before you,’ said his friend, Fred 
Condsey of Lake James, as they trotted along. ‘ I don’t fancy a 
longer stay in town would make you any the fitter for it.’ 

‘ True, most sapient adviser ; I look upon you as a direct instru- 
ment of Providence sent to pluck me like a brand from the 
burning.’ 

The other laughed. 

‘Not quite that, and I don't want to preach, but a fellow gets 
soft by too much city life, and you are going on an arduous under- 
taking that wants a man to be at his best. I would like to go with 
you, if this little place of mine could take care of itself. Rely on 
It, those black devils about the Junction will remember the lesson 
you gave them and endeavour to return it with interest. There is 
quite spice enough of danger to render it interesting.’ 

‘ We got through all right last time,’ said Roland lightly, ‘ and I 
expect we shall this. We know now what to expect, and under- 
stand the niggers better.’ 

‘Undoubtedly, but don’t forget that this trip you cannot move 
so quickly, particularly when crossing rivers. The stubborn 
brutes of sheep may keep you days before they will take the water. 
However, another party with cattle has gone through since you 


THE STAR 


99 

did, and according to Sydney gossip has taught the noble savage 
that “the wrath of the white man is a consuming fire.”’ 

There was a pause, and then Condsey continued — 

‘ With what is doubtless a proper deference to the majesty of the 
law, which makes it murder to kill a black fellow, we don’t talk 
openly of these things ; if we did, it would be awkward for the 
officials, and they might be compelled to take action ; but I may 
tell you that my cousin was in the party, and writes me that the 
natives made a determined attack at the Junction on them. The 
leader, old Blacklock, at the commencement of the fray, got hit with 
a boomerang, and it made him savage. He gave orders to blaze 
away right and left, and they did it to some purpose — pretty much 
a case of “ wipe out,” I take it, with that lot.’ 

‘ I really don’t see what else is to be done, if the matter is left 
to the squatters and drovers,’ said Roland. ‘But I devoutly hope 
I may never again have to decide between giving up my property 
and prospects or shooting the aboriginals. I feel sure from past 
experience that my self-interest will prevail over my objection to 
bloodshed.’ 

‘ I don’t question it, and most men would do the same; but the 
worst of it is that it does not end there, but generally results in a 
long course of reprisals. It’s a case of blood for blood with the 
black men, and they don’t care who it is, so long as he wears a 
white skin. I may never have been within hundreds of miles of 
where his countryman was killed, and may strongly disapprove of 
the deed; but he will just as soon spear me as another, and the 
manes of his kinsman will be quite as well satisfied. Some of the 
Europeans are worse, however; they slaughter the blacks in antici- 
pation of aggression. But we must cut the yarn, for here is our 
camp.’ 

A week’s journey brought the friends to Lake James, where they 
were to part. 

‘Now, Grantley,’ said Condsey, ‘ I will either lend you a horse to 
carry you over to Cootrala, or you can buy the best piece of stuff 
in New South Wales from a stockman here. The price is big — 
thirty guineas; but the colt — he’s little more, only four years old— is 
perfect. If you think of him, I ’ll send to “ Snowy River Bob ” to 
have him here in the morning. Don’t, if you want him, tiy to beat 
Bob down; he’s been offered thirty sovereigns over and over again; 
he ’ll simply mount and ride off with a grunt without stopping to 
shake the dust off his feet, much less wait for another bid. He *s 
a character, is the old stockman.’ 

‘ Let me see him,’ replied Roland. ‘ I ’ve been looking for a 
Sydney-side crack ever since I came to the colony ; and if he is 
what you say. Bob shall have no cause to grunt.’ 

Early the next morning, Grantley was enjoying the fresh air on 
the verandah, when he observed an uncouth figure, in basil breeches, 
rough high-boots, long calfskin waistcoat, and opossum-skin caR 
riding a superb horse in the direction of the house. 


100 


PAVING THE WAY 


The animal paced on with the free, springy step of the perfect 
hack, his full, bold, bright eyes taking in every object. His colour 
was dark bay with black points, the only white hairs about him 
being a large showy star in the very centre of his broad forehead. 
About fifteen and a half hands high, with a long round bapel ribbed 
close up to the hips, strong broad loins and splendid sloping 
shoulders, massive thighs with legs well set under him, short 
pasterns with bones flatter than Roland thought he had ever seen 
them before, feet large and firm, and a long arched neck termi- 
nating in a beautiful head with small pointed ears, wide frontal, 
and spreading red nostrils, he looked a perfect horse, the most 
beautiful and useful animal that owns man’s sway. 

With the eye of a judge Grantley glanced over him and mentally 
decided that he had not a fault. 

‘Good horse that of yours, friend,’ said he, for the rider was 
evidently ‘ Snowy River Bob.’ 

‘ May well say that, sir ; there ’s not the like of him on the Sydney 
side.’ 

‘ Well,’ replied Roland, ‘ let ’s come to business at once. What ’s 
his price ? and I ’ll ask you about him afterwards, if I buy 
him.’ 

‘ Thirty guineas,’ said Bob defiantly, as if he expected a protest. 

‘He’s mine,’ said Grantley quietly. ‘ I ’ll pay you the money 
now, if you will come into the house.’ 

The stockman’s face relaxed. 

‘You are a gent as is a gent, and knows a good horse when he 
sees one, and doesn’t beat a man down. You’ll never repent buy- 
ing him, sir ; and if ever your life depends on him, he ’ll carry you 
through, if horse-flesh can. Never mind what his pedigree is, 
sir; I don’t know it myself, and I came by him honestly; but he 
shows breeding in every hair of him.’ 

‘ Well, Bob, on second thoughts, I ’ll ask you nothing. I am 
quite satisfied with my bargain; and if, where I am going, the 
niggers get after me, I don’t doubt he ’ll pull me through.’ 

‘Niggers be d d,’ said Bob contemptuously; ‘he’ll run them 

varmint blind in less than no time. Star ’s his name, and he is a 
star, but he was called that ’cause o’ the mark in his forehead.! It 
shows out so, sir, that even in the dark you can see it shining. I 
would not sell him, but there is them about these parts as have 
their eyes on him for the road, and they ’d be sure to get him from 
me somehow.’ 

‘ But you could swear to that star,’ said Roland, ‘ anywhere ?’ 

‘Ay, sir ; but they’d soon paint that out, if they wanted to. I ’d 
swear to him without that, but it wouldn’t help me to get him 
back if they once laid hands on him.’ 

‘Oh, you mean bush-rangers?’ Roland said, but the old man 
answered never a word. 

‘ Well, Bob, so you have sold the Star, the best horse in the 
country ? ’ said Mr. Condsey, joining them. 



You’ll never repent buying him Sir ; and if ever your life depends on 
him he’ll carry you through, if horseflesh can. 




I 


THE STAR 


lOI 


‘Yes, sir, and I am going to throw in into the bargain this here 
pair of hobbles that won’t hurt his fetlocks.’ 

‘ Beautifully made and soft as a glove,’ said Condsey ; ‘ I am 
sure Mr. Grantley is greatly obliged to you. He has now got 
quite the best hack and one of the best pair of hobbles in the 
district.’ 

All old bushmen know what a comfort to both horse and rider 
a really well-made pair of hobbles are. These were beautifully 
made of the best prepared bullock-hide, every part being patiently 
and even elaborately plaited. They were no trouble to put on or 
take off, and no exposure to wet or heat would ever harden them. 

Grantley heartily expressed his thanks while the stockman was 
engaged in taking off his well-worn saddle and bridle. Seeing 
that there was nothing at hand to tie up the horse with, he took 
H light, plaited halter from his pack, and, putting it on the Star, 
fastened him to the fence. 

But Roland noticed what he had done, and exclaimed — 

‘ No, Bob, that halter is worth half a sovereign ; I must pay 
you for that.’ 

‘ Well, sir, I ’ll take the money to drink your health and wish 
you luck, if you don’t mind.’ 

Then, saddle on head, the old stockman passed through the 
gate and disappeared. 

‘Just like old Bob,’ observed Condsey; ‘he gave the hobbles 
more to the horse than you, and if you had not offered payment 
for the halter he was too proud to ask it. All the same, you would 
have lost caste in his opinion if you hadn’t. As it is, when any- 
thing annoys him with me, he will no doubt allude to you as “ that 
gent as is a gent and knows how to treat a man.” Well, as you 
brought your own saddle and bridle from Sydney, you have now 
a complete fit-out ; and if you must go to-day, I will ride part of the 
way to show you the short cut and see how you like the Star.’ 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE NOBLE SAVAGE OBTAINS SOME MUTTON 

Three months later two riders sat on their horses on the bank 
of the river Darling, at the Junction. The river was not then full 
to overflowing as it was when last they saw it, but shrunk to half 
its former dimensions. Neither was it of the nearly milky white- 
ness which so surprised them then, but clear as the Murray itself. 
That stream, too, flowed now well within its banks, the lagoons 
and backwaters being dry or detached from the main channel. 
Otherwise the scene had not so greatly changed. True the, 


102 


PAVING THE WAY 


frontage and grass generally was much dryer, but there was still 
abundance of pasture. In the distance could be seen three clouds 
of dust, to the initiated unmistakable evidence of the presence of 
three flocks of sheep, rendering it unnecessary to look for the line 
of little animals looming large in the mirage. Nearer again were 
the teams, a horse-cart and four pairs of bullocks with heavy dray 
crawling slowly after, all showing mammoth-like and misshapen 
in the quivering, deceptive light. 

The horsemen were Enfield and Grantley, tanned and dried up 
by continual exposure to the fiery sun of Australia in level Riverina. 
There was no mistaking the splendid bay horse with the dazzling 
white star, with his bright eyes as full of pride as ever, though 
some of the gloss of the coat had gone and the ribs and muscles 
showed more plainly. 

‘The drays will be up directly,’ said Enfield. ‘We’ll camp 
near the fallen tree ; it will do for a back log, and is out of the 
reach of the river-bank if the blacks should attempt an attack by 
creeping in under it or swimming.’ 

‘Yes,’ assented the other, ‘ it’s better to be cautious, as Danker 
used to tell us. The sheep are coming on ; I ’ll ride back and tell 
the men they may let them “box ” — they can’t go wrong in the angle 
of the two rivers. No bridging this, Enfield, as we did the Lachlan, 
though it is by no means the formidable obstacle it was the last 
time we were here.’ 

‘ You are right, my boy, in each respect ; we must go regularly 
to work, make forcing yards and strain a rope across on the 
lower side to keep our “ jumbucks ” straight, and then we can only 
hope that the many minds will have but one opinion and get over 
to the other side as fast as possible. If they set their faces the 
other way, we are booked to remain here several days. That 
is their obstinate side ; but, as old Neddy says, they have their 
capricious one too, and women are constancy itself compared to 
them then.’ 

‘ Moralise away, old chap,’ laughed Roland as he rode off, 
‘ about women ; but it ’s all humbug, you know ; if you could only 
meet one now, she would possess none but perfect attributes.’ 

‘ The young beggar is quite right,’ mused Enfield, sitting down 
on the log and letting his horse loose to crop the grass growing 
about. ‘ I don’t know why I should wander like a modern Ishmael 
through the wilds of Australia. Much less should he, with 
that prettiest of all wild-flowers waiting to be plucked by him. If 
ever I get a giil to think half as much of me as she does of him, 
I ’ll settle down, unless I ’m a bigger fool than I look.’ It occupied 
the party two days making the necessary preparations for crossing 
the river, as it was thought prudent to do the work as thoroughly 
as possible, so that there should be no breakdown. A rope was 
strained across the stream to prevent the sheep going down with 
the current, and a forcing lane was made from the yard to the 
edge of the water. The body of the horse-cart served as a punt, and 


THE NOBLE SAVAGE OBTAINS SOME MUTTON 103 

in it a few sheep were crossed to the opposite bank, to entice the 
others over. 

When all was ready, the work began. Along the lane the 
reluctant brutes were absolutely forced, resisting every step of the 
way, to the bank, then over the bank into the water. From the 
first it was evident they had no stomach for it. They would 
smother first in the stream, and if still urged on they lay down 
supinely, one on another, feet deep. Go to the right or left ? Yes ; 
but straight ahead through that strip of water, — no — by all the 
gods of the woolly race. Those on the other side, however, would 
cheerfully swim back, and did so, telling their fellows that the 
other side possessed no attractions worth the passage. More 
were punted over, others were taken by swimmers, though they 
resisted until they were nearly drowned ; but as to the rest follow- 
ing, in all those ten thousand sheep’s heads, there was but one 
determination — won’t, won’t, won’t, shan’t, shan’t, shan’t. 

‘No use,’ said the shepherds. ‘No use,’ echoed all hands at 
last ; so it was decided to leave the matter until late on the 
following morning, and let the perverse animals starve on the 
camp and in the yard meanwhile. Probably when the pinch of 
hunger came, and they realised that the only way to a square 
meal lay over the stream, they might look at it in a different 
light. 

At ten o’clock next morning, after the dray had been crossed, a 
few sheep were put over, and began to feed contentedly at once on 
the grass at the river’s brink. Those already in the lane, observ- 
ing them, evinced a desire to join them. All hands began urging 
them, and presently they started. Nothing was now required but 
to keep the pressure up from behind. Better still, those in the 
yard on the edge of the river began crossing of their own accord, 
so that, instead of a narrow string of swimming sheep, there was 
soon a broad band which kept on increasing, until the whole flock 
was over with scarcely the loss of a dozen, all told. 

‘ Bravo ! ’ said Enfield ; ‘ never was a tough job better done. We 
are over the rivers, for with these so low the Anabranch cannot 
give us any trouble; and now, boys, we must be more careful than 
ever of the blacks.’ 

Nothing was seen of the natives, however, for some days, after 
which it was evident they were prowling about, as one or two were 
occasionally seen, and still smouldering fires were found at lately 
abandoned camps. 

‘ It scarcely looks as if they meant mischief,’ observed Enfield. 
‘ I would like to show them that we desire to be friends,’ and on 
leaving camp he placed a damper and half a sheep where they 
could not fail to find them. Half an hour later he returned to find 
them gone. 

‘ Shows they are watching us,’ said he, ‘ but apparently with no 
hostile intentions.’ 

‘ Be cautious,’ expostulated Grantley. ‘ I don’t think it wise to 


104 PAVING THE WAY 

leave food ; it will encourage them to follow, which is just what 
we want to avoid.’ 

That afternoon, as they were riding along a little in advance of 
the teams through a few shrubs from the edge of a thicket, they 
suddenly came upon three black fellows, apparently by surprise. 
The natives did not attempt to fly, but appeared to be edging nearer 
the bushes, at the same time motioning to the whites to retire or look 
back. Inadvertently Enfield turned round in his saddle, and imme- 
diately the nearest native speared him in the loin. Roland saw the 
treacherous act, and instantly fired, apparently without effect, for 
the weapon was no sooner flung than the whole three disappeared. 

Enfield stooped forward, clinging to his horse’s neck, the spear 
— to Roland’s horror, a barbed one — hanging from his side. 

‘ I ’ve got it this time,’ he said; ‘ badly, I fear.’ 

Grantley sprang to the ground, and, as the shaft was pressing 
down and causing great pain by its weight, held it up until the 
cart was driven up. Then a saw was procured and the spear sawn 
off near the wound. Considerably relieved by the weight of the 
weapon being removed, the sufferer was able to dismount and take 
off some of his clothes. It was then seen that it was only a flesh 
wound, but the shaft had passed alarmingly near vital parts. 
Grantley endeavoured to withdraw it, but without avail, and after 
tnduring great agony Enfield begged him to desist. ‘There is 
little bleeding, and I believe if we could only get the thing out 
you would be more comfortable and would do well,’ said his friend. 

‘ We will have another try in camp,’ replied the wounded man. 
‘ I feel too faint to stand more now. Make me up a place in the 
cart where I can lie down.’ 

They only went a short distance farther that day, as the jolting 
of the vehicle increased his sufferings. When at rest on the ground, 
cold-water applications were used, and as the pain abated attempts 
were again made to extract the spear-head, under the directions of 
Er^field himself, who knew something of surgery, but without success. 

‘ Leave it alone,’ he said at last; ‘ it may work out itself ; you will 
jnly aggravate the wound by pulling at it. Most likely the barb 
has caught on a bone. I have no internal pain, and do not now 
think it so serious as at first.’ 

^ Later he became much easier, and talked quite calmly about 
himself and the position of the party. 

‘ I was a confounded fool to look away, just to give them an 
opportunity to pot me. Now I shall of course have to be carried, 
—a nuisance to everybody, instead of being of some use.’ 

‘ I am going to swing a stretcher in the cart for you, to prevent 
your feeling the jolting so much,’ said Roland. 

‘Many thanks, old chap. You will have lots on your shoulders 
without thinking of me, for we are in the most dangerous part of 
the country, and I believe the natives are organising an attack.’ 

‘ We will keep a sharp look-out and push on. It can’t be helped 
if the sheep do starve a bit ; they must make up for it later on.’ 


THE NOBLE SAVAGE OBTAINS SOME MUTTON 105 

The night passed quietly, and, beyond a slight pain and stiffness 
round the wound, Enfield was free from suffering ; but when in his 
swinging cot with the cart in motion, next day, his endurance was 
put to a severe test, and before the day’s journey was over his 
agony was great. Still he refused to be cast down, and on seeing 
Grantley’s anxious face bending over him he said : ‘ Don’t trouble, 
old man. I am worth many dead ones yet, though it ’s certainly 
an awkward fix to have a foot or two of timber imbedded in one.’ 

‘It’s open country here,’ replied his friend; ‘we will only go a 
little farther; perhaps to-morrow you may feel the jolting less.’ 

Thus they progressed slowly round Lake Victoria, and each day 
Enfield seemed to bear the journey better, though there were no 
signs of the weapon coming away. He could walk a little, and his 
appetite was good for a man in his terrible position, and suffering 
the torture that he at times endured. On reaching the head of the 
lake he said to Roland — 

‘ There is thick country ahead, where we are likely to be attacked, 
if anywhere. Order the shepherds to keep close to the teams, and 
let us push on. I can stand a long journey now, and fire a shot, 
too, if a gun is put alongside my cot.’ 

‘All right; you shall lead the party as usual, and make Jem drive 
you as fast as you please. I|’ll take care the flocks are not far 
behind. All hands are anxious to move quickly, for there are many 
signs of the black devils closing in about us.’ 

Next morning they accordingly travelled as rapidly as the 
bullock-team could be made to move by the use of a Sydney- side 
bullock-driver’s varied and extensive vocabulary, in which the 
strongest adjectives predominated, assisted by the continuous appli- 
cation of that formidable weapon in skilful hands, a bullock-whip. 

The day being cool, no difficulty was experienced in making 
good progress for three or four hours. Then on all sides blacks 
were seen closing in, and the dray had to stop for the shepherds 
to come up. 

‘Now,’ said Grantley, ‘no time must be lost in parleying with 
these treacherous dogs. We cannot allow them any advantage. 
So fire away, and make sure you don’t waste your powder.’ 

With something less than the usual amount of fantastic ges- 
ticulation and yelling, the enemy came on, with a tall savage at 
their head. Roland noted him, took steady aim, and brought him 
down ; other shots were fired, some with effect, but the aboriginal 
warriors still came on. Meantime, Enfield and Jem had continued 
firing in front, with the result that the blacks there cleared off. 
Seeing this, he ordered the team to be driven on, hoping that they 
would not be followed. The sheep, too, had rushed th^rough the 
opening, and were well in advance. At first this movement seemed 
successful, as a pause was made by the natives ; then they rushed 
after, flinging spears, and waddies, and boomerangs in showers. 
In vain the whites fired as rapidly as they could load their weapons. 
With a bravery that has never been acknowledged, but that is not 


io6 


PAVING THE WAY 


surpassed by that of the Briton himself, on they came, though 
their leaders fell under the awe-inspiring lightning of the terrible 
white boree} Seeing that further resistance was useless, the un- 
mounted men rushed for the cart, and, forcing the horses into a 
trot, drove off, while the horsemen followed, firing at any natives 
who kept up the pursuit. Nearly all, however, stopped round the 
dray to plunder it, and to kill the bullocks that were left — fortu- 
nately only the pair in the pole, the driver having with great pre- 
sence of mind unhooked the chain connecting the others, which 
came tearing on, some with spears sticking in them, their fright 
making them travel faster than Old Bob’s oaths, and bullock-thong 
into the bargain, ever could do. Several of the party were 
wounded, and a short halt was made, as soon as it was seen that 
they were not pursued, to examine their injuries. Fortunately, 
though serious enough to completely incapacitate two men, there 
appeared no reason to apprehend fatal results. 

Roland was inclined to make an attempt to recover the sheep, 
but Enfield overruled him. Indeed, the men showed no disposi- 
tion to again encounter so numerous a foe. 

‘ You would only risk your own life and the lives of all of us,’ he 
said, ‘ without attaining your object. The wiser plan will be to 
push on as far as we can to-night, and think over what is best to 
be done.’ 

‘ I would much rather try what a sudden attack on the wretches 
would do,’ replied Roland ; ‘ so would you, old fellow, if you were 

fit to ride. Ah, well, you are no doubt right, but its d d hard 

to bring these sheep all that distance, only to lose them now.’ 

‘We’ll get most of them back yet, please God,’ said the other. 
‘ It ’s only a three days’ ride to the out-stations of South Australia, 
where we may get reinforcements to help us to give those fellows 
the drubbing they require before travelling will be safe. Probably 
it will not be necessary to go beyond Moorundie, or even the 
North-West Bend, as troopers are stationed there.’ 

They continued travelling while daylight lasted, by which time 
they were so far from the scene of their misfortunes that there 
appeared little to apprehend from the enemy, and a halt was made, 
a clear open space being selected, to prevent a surprise. 

‘ I shall start at daylight, Enfield, on the Star, to the Bend, or if 
necessary to Moorundie, and leave you to follow me to a safe dis- 
tance from these beggars, who are probably regaling themselves 
on our mutton at the present moment. It must be over a hun- 
dred miles from here, but I think my good horse may do it by to- 
morrow night, for he is as hard as nails.’ 

‘ It ’s a good bit more than that, and part of it a heavy road ; but 
with such a horse you will get to Moorundie early the next day, 
and, if help is there, you may even make a start back in the even- 
ing. I shall therefore expect to meet you in four or five days, and 
by that time hope to have this beastly thing in my side out, and be 

^ Devil. 


THE NOBLE SAVAGE OBTAINS SOME MUTTON 107 

able to ride again, so as to take an active part in the victory that 
is going to restore our fallen fortunes. I really believe the con- 
founded thing is looser.’ 

‘ Let me have another examination by the firelight,’ said Roland. 
‘ I should be glad to know that you had got rid of it before I 
leave you.’ 

On looking at the wound, the first glimpse showed him that the 
weapon had worked out nearly an inch, and with a little careful 
manipulation he managed to draw it away altogether. 

‘ Bravo, Enfield ! there is something for you to leave to your 
children’s children, to the last generation of the race that you are 
going to found in Australia. Drink some water, old fellow ; I am 
a brute to hurt you so much, but I was anxious to get the thing 
out before I went, and perhaps pulled too hard.’ 

‘ Never was pain more welcome,’ said the other. ‘ I ’m sure I 
shall do now, if I can only get a few quiet days. For the sake of 
the other wounded men as well, we won’t go beyond Lake Bonney, 
but shall remain there till you return ; the rest will pretty well 
heal our wounds.’ 

At the first streak of dawn Grantley mounted the Star, to begin his 
long ride. He carried nothing but a light gun and a little food, for 
he wished to save his horse every pound in weight that was possible. 

‘ I expect I must trust more to your speed than my shooting, 
my beauty,’ he said ; ‘ but I ’ll carry the gun to frighten the darkies 
with, even if I don’t really use it in earnest. Perhaps the mere 
sight of it may help to keep them at a respectful distance.’ 

It was an extremely fortunate thing that they had been able to 
bring the cart away when the attack was made, as it contained a 
considerable quantity of provisions, sufficient for the party until 
Roland rejoined them. 

‘ Good-bye,’ he cried cheerily ; ‘ keep your peckers up, and you ’ll 
soon see me back with a South Australian army to avenge our 
defeat, and show the niggers that “ he who fights and runs away 
may live to fight another day.” ’ 

And away went horse and rider at the steady pace that the 
experienced bushman knows will best cover the longest journey. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

A LONG RIDE 

Hour after hour, with keen glance to right and left, Roland rode 
on, the gallant horse stepping lightly over the yielding sand, and 
when the ground was firmer breaking into a trot or even a canter. 
After the first few hours there was scarcely any danger to be 
apprehended from the aborigines. At this portion of the river 


io8 


PAVING THE WAY 


they had never been so troublesome, and were besides overawed 
by the troopers who occasionally patrolled the frontage, now that 
a station had been formed at Moorundie. 

At Overland Corner he ascended out of the valley of the Murray 
on to the desolate table-land, covered with mallee scrub, that 
stretched, barren and worthless, far away on either side of the 
noble stream. And for the rest of his long ride, with but short 
intervals where time had worn the precipices down and permitted 
the track to wind along the river flats, he looked from the lofty 
elevation on the father of Australian waters winding through the 
confined space between the opposing cliffs that here shut in that 
fertilising power that was destined to clothe much of the barren 
land of the vast continent with measureless luxuriance. 

The bushmen, in all the limitless extent of Australia, knows no 
tract of country that presents a more repellent aspect than the 
nallee-covered area that fringes the stream he is so proud of, for 
the first hundred miles after entering South Australia. On the 
east side the dull, monotonous, green level extends hundreds of 
miles, almost to the ocean, and far up into Victoria. Out in that 
scrub, to lose the points of the compass is to lose your life, unless 
your luck be greater than your bushmanship. If perchance you 
do stumble on a rise a few feet higher than the surrounding dead 
level, and a larger stem of the dwarf eucalyptus will allow you to 
climb it, or failing that, you stand on your saddle so that your 
head is a foot or so above the growth around, there is nothing to 
be seen but an unbroken ocean of level green. 

The bewildered traveller may have earnestly longed to rise above 
the stifling leaves and countless stems that support them and are 
set thick in the hot sand to bar his progress ; but the sight of that 
leafy sea extending on every side, and seemingly boundless as 
the broad ocean itself, appals the stoutest heart. 

Once lost in this fearful region, wise is the man who calls all his 
courage and calmness to his aid, and, waiting until the position of 
the sun assures him in which direction the river lies, then resolutely 
steers straight for it, putting aside all preconceived opinions he 
may have formed as to its position. Only those who have been 
lost know how hard it is to cast away one’s convictions as wrong. 
You are watching for the sun or moon to rise in a certain part of 
the heavens, and they appear in the opposite direction. Then 
to turn and compel yourself, by accepting the indisputable evidence 
of the orb of day or night, to steer a course that a moment ago 
you were convinced rnust lead to destruction requires a clear- 
headedness and resolution that not every one possesses in such a 
situation. 

The track made by the first overlanders generally followed the 
edge of the cliffs, where the scrub was less dense ; but occasionally, 
to cut off a bend or get round the deep gullies, it broke through 
the thick mallee for a few miles. Here the course of the river was 
lost sight of, and the traveller could realise what his situation 


A LONG RIDE 


109 

might have been without those nearly obliterated wheel-marks to 
guide him. 

‘ It’s a God-forsaken piece of country,’ said Roland to himself ; 
‘ and what nature could have been about to send that great river 
through it I can’t understand. Even if such a botch had been 
made as far as the Bend, why it was necessary to perpetuate it by 
making the river turn abruptly from there towards the south, in- 
stead of continuing straight on to St. Vincent’s Gulf, is more 
incomprehensible still. No one who studies the subject from my 
present standpoint can admit that all things ar6 for the best in the 
best of all possible worlds.’ 

At the North-West Bend the Murray meets those huge cliffs 
which force it sharply round to the south. Here open plains come 
in, breaking through the weary girdle of monotonous scrub that 
iDOunds the noble stream. Hard, dry, gravelly, and apparently 
impenetrable either to moisture or the genial rays of the sun, they 
then grew a fair expanse of grassy sward when sufficient rain fell. 
Mallee, principally of a larger growth, still clothes most of the 
country, while sandal- wood is scattered over parts of the plains. 
Immediately round the Bend the everlasting mallee-scrub closes 
in on the river again, and so continues, with breaks of open plain, 
to its mouth in Lake Alexandrina. 

Considered in all its aspects, it is questionable if the great river 
of our vast continent could have found a worse area of country to 
pass through for the last three hundred miles of its course, or could 
have chosen a more exposed and inhospitable part of the southern 
coast for an outlet. In the narrow gorge between the confining 
cliffs, where it winds its way from side to side, every few miles 
boring into the alternate precipices, as if to eat its way out, lofty 
gum-trees grow, and beneath them again a luxuriant growth of 
polygonum bushes and grass. 

Noting these things, Roland continued steadily on, sparing his 
good horse by never hurrying his pace. At midday he camped 
for an hour, hobbling the Star on a patch of green grass at one of 
the few places where the track descended to the river valley. He 
ate of the food he had brought with him, keenly watching all the 
while for the possible approach of a stealthy black foe. He felt 
that too much confidence could not be safely placed in the tribe 
inhabiting this part of the river country, particularly when a white 
man was alone. No one troubled him, however, and at the end of 
an hour he once more pushed on. The Star, refreshed by the rest 
and feed, tossed his proud head and, opening his broad nostrils 
wider, stretched out at a pace that showed he meant to get over a 
lot of ground before nightfall. 

‘ A hundred miles between daylight and dark, every yard of it, 
we shall have covered, my gallant bay,’ said- Roland. ‘ Truly did 
Snowy River Bob say that a man’s life could depend on no better 
horse.’ 

As the sun sank lower the day became cooler, and Grantley rode 


no 


PAVING THE WAY 


on at an increased speed. He had passed the North-West Bend 
without seeing any signs of a recent encampment, and in all pro- 
bability he would have to go on to Moorundie. 

‘Another thirty or forty miles, I believe,’ he thought ; ‘ Hll do 
about half of it and then camp for a couple of hours, and when the 
moon rises we ’ll put on a spurt and finish it.' 

He had ridden fast since evening fell, but when darkness caught 
him in the thick scrub through which the track was winding he 
had to go at a walking pace to enable the Star to pick his way 
over the stumps and fallen timber; indeed, in many places the 
rider had to trust the horse entirely to follow the track. It was a 
melancholy, lonely ride. Down below in the deep valley the cries 
of the waterfowl and night-birds sounded shrill and weird ; while 
from the bush came the long-drawn, mournful howls of the wild 
dogs, at first far away, then nearer and nearer, until they seemed 
close behind and on his trail. 

‘Not pleasant,’ muttered our hero; ‘but it was worse on the 
Coorong, with those sleuth-hounds on my track and without you 
under me,’ and he patted the neck of his steed. Once, too, as the 
road wound near the edge of a cliff, he saw fires burning below. 
For a moment hope sprang up within him that it was the camp of 
the men he sought, only to die away again, for there were the 
black, naked forms squatting round the flames. 

He hesitated. Should he go down that dark gulch to the flat 
below and ascertain from them where the troopers were? The 
Star settled the question by impatiently reaching out his head to 
slacken the reins and then starting off again. 

‘ I believe you are right, old horse,’ he said ; ‘ we should only 
waste time by venturing down there, and it might not be too safe. 
On a few miles farther, and then on the first flat where there is 
grass we will camp.’ 

The horse appeared to know what he meant, for with head held 
low to scent the path he stepped briskly on, and in about an hour 
they came to a bend by the river under a cliff, where good feed 
was to be had by a pool of water, as the Star evidently thought, for 
he fell-to without waiting for the bit to be taken out of his mouth. 

‘ It ’s about as dark and dreary a spot as could be found,’ thought 
the young man ; ‘ but as it possesses the two essentials for us, water 
and grass, I am satisfied.’ 

So the horse was hobbled out, and Roland finished the last scrap 
of damper he had, which was as hard and dry as that comestible 
can be, and that is saying a good deal. A bushman always likes 
to have a fire to camp by, particularly if he is alone. It is a cheer- 
less thing to fling yourself down as if one spot were as good as 
another. Then, if you leave it, there may be a difficulty in finding 
it again, if the night is dark. Roland felt all this as he lay with his 
head on his saddle and listened to the clink of his steed’s hobble 
chain. He knew he must not lose that sound, or he would not be 
able to move on when the time came. 


A LONG RIDE 


III 


The whole place now suddenly seemed to wake into weird life : 
owls flew by, uttering their discordant cries close to him ; bitterns 
and curlews vied with one another in the loudness of their un- 
earthly screams. Then, just over the pool, a maternal wild-dog 
and her progeny began a chorus, which was answered by pater- 
familias, far away on the high land, in so dirge-like a strain that the 
listener’s blood ran chill. Then a pause, and apparently far off, 
but really very near, arose more doleful cries. After that silence 
absolute and oppressive, till suddenly each tree and bush seemed 
to burst forth into horrible, awe-inspiring yells. Terrified for the 
moment, Roland sprang to his feet, while the Star started with 
affright. The sound of the hobbles as the horse cantered up 
brought Roland to his senses. 

‘ Whoa, ho ! ’ he shouted, and in a second the magic of the human 
voice had stilled that infernal din and the night sank into calmness 
and silence. The stealthy animals were doubtless there, watching 
man and horse, but neither by sign nor sound could their presence 
be detected. 

Then over the tall dark line of trees beyond the river rose the 
moon, and the blackness of the dreary place became illuminated by 
her light. Away in the mallee the low howl of the retreating din- 
goes could be heard, as Grantley picked up his saddle and bridle 
and put them on the Star. 

‘ It has been about as dismal a two hours as I hope to spend for 
the rest of my life,’ he said. ‘ After that I can quite understand 
what a “ new chum ” must feel out alone for the first time with those 
brutes prowling round him. Anyhow, the nerves that can stand 
that hullabaloo without quaking must be firmer than mine, or yours 
either. Star.’ 

Presently daylight appeared in a faint glow in the east, and the 
twittering of the little birds among the bushes, as he rode past, 
sounded like sweet music to the weary traveller. As the new day 
threw its light over the landscape, Grantley recollected the con- 
tour of the country well enough to be sure that he was near the 
termination of his journey. Another half-hour brought a dozen or 
more horses into sight, at which the Star pricked up his ears and 
gave a joyous neigh. 

‘ The station mob, by Jove ! ’ exclaimed the rider. ‘ Breakfast and 
a sleep will do us both good, my matchless steed.’ 

A black boy now could be seen, bridle in hand, going quietly 
among them, and one was caught just as Roland rode up. 

‘ Where white fellow ? ’ he demanded. 

‘ Close up ’long ribber,’ was the concise reply, as the mob broke 
into a gallop. The Star forgot his fatigue and bounded after them 
with all his wonted elasticity. 

A row of slab huts on the bank of the Murray formed the station 
of Moorundie. Built for the Protector of Aborigines, it necessarily 
had to provide accommodation for the troopers, who enforced his 
authority and accompanied him when travelling among the natives. 


II2 


PAVING THE WAY 


Riding straight up to the principal building, Roland was met by 
a group of men, one of whom was the individual he could have 
most desired to see. 

‘ Very glad to meet you. Danker,’ he said, dropping off the Star’s 
back to the side of his friend. 

‘ Roland Grantley, by the powers ! and with the best piece of 
horse-flesh I have seen for years ! I believe you know most of us 
here, but this is the Protector, Mr. Buckstone. Now let me 
turn this beauty out, and then tell us where you have sprung 
from.’ 

‘You could not have come at a more opportune time,’ said the 
Inspector of Police, when Grantley had briefly told his tale. ‘ We 
have received instructions to proceed up the river to quiet the Rufus 
tribe. If you had been a few days later, we should have met and 
saved you a very long ride. I intended starting in a couple of 
hours, but I will delay until to-tnorrow if you are too tired to accom- 
pany us. 

‘We will do it this way, inspector, if you don’t mind,’ replied 
Danker. ‘ You go on with the troop and I ’ll follow up with Grant- 
ley this evening, when he has had a rest and a good sleep. He 
can have one of my horses and leave his own here until we return; 
it would be a burning shame to take him back after performing 
such a journey — a hundred and forty miles, if it ’s one, in the 
twenty-four hours! ’ 

‘You are the best of good fellows,’ answered Roland; ‘ I daresay 
I could start at once, if necessary, but shall be glad of a camp first.’ 

‘ Then that is settled,’ said the officer. ‘ I ’ll hurry up my fellows 
and be off. I am not sure exactly where we shall get to, but it will 
be as far as is possible with the packs, and the camp will be so 
near the track that you cannot fail to see our fires.’ 

Thus it came about that the relief party was on the road to the 
rescue within three hours after intimation of the disaster reached 
the station. 

The messenger went quietly to sleep and forgot all about the 
matter — not an unreasonable thing to do after riding so many 
miles without closing his eyes. As for the Star, he probably went 
to sleep also, when he had satisfied his hunger on the sweet green 
grass that abounded in the bend of the river. Mr. Danker led him 
down to the choicest plot he could find, and, while he cropped at it, 
gently washed his back and legs, like a true lover of a good horse, 
as he was. He kept talking to himself all the while as he rubbed 
him down — 

‘So you are called the Star? Well, you are a star, and no 
mistake. What a back and loins 1 almost too strong for a light 
weight like Roland ; and legs flat and clean as a bar of steel. I 
can’t find a fault in you, my beauty ; and as to not coveting “ any- 
thing that is thy neighbour’s,” it ’s impossible to look at you and 
not break the Tenth Commandment. I ’ll offer Grantley a hundred 
for you, but he ’ll be a fool if he takes it. So you won’t accompany 


A LONG RIDE 


113 

us, Buckstone ?’ observed the soliloquiser as he met that gentleman 
on returning to the station. 

‘No,’ said the Protector, ‘the attack took place outside my 
jurisdiction, which is a very good reason for not interfering. Then 
again, I am perfectly aware what will occur if you gentlemen meet 
the blacks, particularly if they show fight. Indeed, though I 
personally have no stomach for the work, it is necessary that those 
fellows who now molest every overland party should be taught a 
lesson that will effectually quiet them. Nothing but a severe one 
will do it, and perhaps it may be the most merciful in the end.^ 

‘ You are wise to keep out of it and then you can’t be called over 
the coals by the Goverment. They would doubtless expect you to 
report at length and to justify everything, while the Inspector will 
only briefly state that the aborigines attacked him in the most 
aggressive manner and were ultimately dispersed, after the force 
had incurred great risk by its forbearance. That’s about the 
official style, isn’t it? ’ 

‘ I don’t write the police reports; my own don’t leave quite so 
much to the imagination,’ laughed the other. ‘ “Disperse” is a word 
that admits of a wide interpretation.’ 

‘ Too wide for our present proceedings,’ said Danker; ‘ but I 
shall not be surprised to hear that the Government (who, by-the- 
by, have as yet only played with the aboriginal question) have in- 
structed you (though you do bear the pacific title of “ Protector of 
Aborigines”) to proceed to the Rufus and bring the refractory natives 
into subjection. Will the word “ disperse” mean too much then ?’ 

‘ I shall not be astonished by the receipt of such orders, anyhow, 
unless the Inspector with your assistance does the business forme. 
Of course, if I do go up, the force will be under my control, and not 
a shot will be fired without my express sanction. The officer in 
command will take care to throw the whole responsibility on me 
— not a very pleasant position for a man of peace.’ 

‘ Then you might as well go with us now.’ 

‘By no means — why anticipate a very distasteful duty? No, 
what you gentlemen do must be on your own responsibility, except 
what Inspector Guardly consents to take upon himself. I won’t 
be the scapegoat.’ 

‘You are as diplomatic as it becomes an official to be,’ said 
Danker, ‘ but we are not going to put ourselves in a tight fix by 
doing your dirty work. If we had your authority for putting down 
those black devils up there, it might be different; without it we 
simply go to recover the sheep.’ 

‘ And in doing so will in all probability come into collision with 
the black devils, and so do my “ dirty work ” for me. No doubt it 
may be forced upon you, but I shall be none the less obliged.’ 

‘ Cunning as a fox,’ said Danker with a smile ; ‘ and, to be equal 
with you, I will spare every nigger I can in the hope that he may 
be a lasting plague — a very thorn in the flesh— to you. ’ 


H 


114 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XIX 

CIVILISING THE BLACKS 

That evening the two friends bade farewell to Mr. Buckstone. 

‘Pray, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘ recollect that your mission is two- 
fold, to recover the stock and to pacify the natives, in which 
laudable and benevolent objects I wish you every success. If you 
feel a disposition to be hard upon them, remember that you have 
\mplanted a taste for mutton deep down in their unsophisticated 
itomachs, and no savage is good at controlling his appetite. 
Think what grilled chops, done to a turn, must mean to him after 
lean opossum and tough kangaroo.’ 

‘ But what about his little weakness for the white man’s kidney- 
fat Are we not to resent that, if we meet him on the war- 
path ? ’ 

‘ The uncultured savage must certainly be taught to restrain his 
craving in that direction,’ replied the Protector ; ‘ or if he wants 
anything of the sort, let him be content with the inferior article to 
be found in Grantley’s sheep.’ 

‘You are very kind. Protector, but I hope to put an abrupt 
termination to his enjoyment of even that lesser delicacy.’ 

‘Ah well, I fear that will scarcely be accomplished until our 
black brother is terminated also. Good-bye, a successful journey 
and a safe return ! ’ 

‘A ’cute man is the Protector of Aborigines,’ observed Mr. 
Danker; ‘he wants us to exterminate the fighting men of the 
Rufus tribe, but won’t say so. He knows that when I was in 
Adelaide little more than a week ago, the Government had nearly 
determined to send him up with a strong body of police to subdue 
them, which simply means a stand-up battle in which they would 
be shot down without quarter. Now, if we are led into a conflict 
and successfully carry out the shooting, it will save him an un- 
pleasant task. The authorities have been vacillating as usual on 
the aboriginal question. Very possibly if we make a slaughter, 
and thus finally settle the ever-recurring trouble on this track, they 
may yield to popular clamour and prosecute us. Our safest plan 
will be to recover your property without interfering with the blacks 
at all, if we can.’ 

‘ And if they won’t allow us, which they certainly will not, when 
they have worsted, or think they have, which comes to the same 
thing, nearly every party they have encountered? No, I fully 
expect they are preparing to meet us. They doubtless know 

1 The Australian aboriginal was erroneously supposed by the early settlers 
to have a craving for the kidney-fat of the white man, as a delicate article of 
food, or as an ointment to inspire courage. 


CIVILISING THE BLACKS 


115 

Enfield is camping at Lake Bonney and that I have gone down 
the river, and they will guess that it was to obtain assistance.’ 

‘ Probably you are right ; still, we may find the sheep without 
falling in with any large body of them ; but if we must fight, let 
us take care that the inspector gives the word, and then— the 
Lord have mercy on the black brutes. Now let us put the pace 
on a bit, so that we may reach the camp in time for a fair 
night’s sleep.’ 

It is needless to follow the relief-party through their march. 
On the evening of the third day they arrived at Overland Corner, 
and, from their commanding position on the cliffs, could dis- 
tinguish numerous smokes rising, apparently as signals up the 
river-valley. 

‘ What about this behind us ? ’ exclaimed a trooper, and there, 
on a higher knoll than where they stood, about half a mile away 
in the thick scrub, rose a dense spiral column of smoke, followed 
by another only a few yards distant from it. 

‘That is to give warning that we are here, gentlemen,’ observed 
the inspector. ‘However, if they are forewarned, so are we. 
Forward, men, we will ride on to Lake Bonney before darkness 
falls. I trust we may find your friends all safe, Mr. Grantley, for 
there can be no doubt the darkies are round in force.’ 

Pushing on as rapidly as possible through the mallee, the troop 
had approached the margin of the scrub where the country falls 
to the Lake, when the report of a shot was heard, then two more 
in quick succession. 

‘They are at it already,’ cried the inspector. ‘Sergeant Jones, 
keep five men to protect the pack-horses ; the rest follow me.’ 

After a few hundred yards they broke out of the bushes, and 
came in full view of the Overlanders’ camp, standing in an open 
grassy flat near the edge of the Lake. On the water in canoes 
and near the opposite scrub a number of blacks were seen in full 
flight, though some occasionally paused to make the usual con- 
temptuous gestures. Grantley dashed forward at a gallop. 

‘Just in time, friend in need,’ cried Enfield joyfully. ‘We are 
all safe and getting sound again, but if you had not turned up so 
opportunely, I believe the beggars would have speared the 
horses ; we have kept them in the bush-yard at night and have 
protected ourselves behind the timber. How are you, inspector ? 
Never was man more welcome.’ 

‘ Allow me to compliment you on your well-chosen position ; it 
would do credit to an old soldier,’ replied the officer. ‘ Perhaps 
you are a trifle too near the Lake, considering that the enemy are 
as much at home in the water as on land. Turn out, men, we 
camp here.’ 

After Roland’s departure Enfield had lost no time in pushing on 
to Lake Bonney, and on arrival there, had at once taken precau- 
tions for the safety of his party by erecting a rough palisading of 
saplings and boughs round the camp. In this they also kept the 


ii6 


PAVING THE WA\ 


horses, except when out for the necessary grazing on tne tlat. 
Several times the blacks had attempted to approach, but were 
warned off by a few shots being fired to intimidate them. On the 
last day, however, shortly before the arrival of the relief party, 
four canoes full of natives came up the lake, while other blacks 
were seen in the fringe of the mallee scrub. Those in the canoes 
paddled up to the shallow water and then got out and, sinking 
themselves below the surface, endeavoured to get near in this way. 
Their object appeared to be to approach as close as possible under 
cover, and then rush forward on all sides. 

‘ We then began firing,’ said Enfield, as he told the tale over 
the camp fire that night, ‘as we momentarily expected a rush, 
which would probably have resulted in the destruction of us all. 
Probably some were hit, as there was a great deal of yelling 
between the bands on the Lake and in the scrub. Suddenly we 
were surprised by seeing them run, those in the grass for the 
forest, while the others took to their canoes. Then we heard the 
tramp of your horses and were right glad to see you riding down. 
Of course we should have knocked over a lot of them before they 
could have done us much damage, but in the end it might have 
gone hard with us.’ 

Mutual congratulations followed, and Grantley was highly com- 
plimented on his splendid ride. He was delighted to find the 
wounded so much improved. 

‘ As for me,’ said Enfield, ‘ I can mount my horse without the 
slightest difficulty, as I ’ll show you to-morrow, for I presume we 
start in the early morning.’ 

‘ Ay,’ replied the inspector, ‘ it is one of the axioms of war to 
follow up a retreating foe. I expect the sooner we catch him, the 
more of your sheep there will be to recover.’ 

Two days’ march brought them to the scene of the attack, where 
the ground was marked with the fresh tracks of sheep. A little further 
on a large flock was seen, some distance off, which gladdened the 
hearts of the owners. A camp for the night was made, it being 
well understood that the morrow would bring them face to face 
with the enemy. 

‘ They are not far from the dray,’ said the officer in command, 
‘ as they will hardly have carried all the stores away yet.’ 

During the evening sounds were heard, plainly indicating that a 
‘ corroboree ’ was going on, no doubt over the Murray, where they 
would consider themselves quite safe. This was so obviously a 
defiance that the inspector expected an attack about daylight and 
due precautions were taken accordingly. Nothing, however, 
occurred and preparations were made to hunt up the foe the 
following morning. 

As agreed, they first proceeded to the scene of the late skirmish. 
The dray was there and the two dead bullocks by the pole, with 
their necks still in the bows. Some of the provisions still remained, 
and there were indications that a quantity had been removed a 


CIVILISING THE BLACKS 


117 

few hours earlier. It was quickly decided to follow up the trail. 
This led in the direction of the river, and presently, on the bank of 
a creek, the party came in full view of a large body of natives 
advancing towards them. It was evident that they were quite pre- 
pared and courted the encounter. With brandished weapons and 
derisive cries, they came resolutely on in all the glory of paint and 
feathers. 

‘Now, inspector,’ said Danker coolly, ‘we are under your 
orders ; you give the word when we are to fire, for I presume we 
must fight.’ 

‘ Fight ! what else are we here for?’ was the reply. ‘ Let them 
come well within range and begin when I tell you.’ 

A number of spears were flung, but fell short. Disdaining to 
seek cover, the savage warriors came fearlessly to the attack, leap- 
ing, dancing, and clashing their shields and clubs together in 
bravado and scorn of men they had learned to despise. Their 
yells and derisive shouts showed that they were confident in their 
numbers and bravery and looked for another easy victory. 

‘ Now,’ cried the inspector, ‘take good aim and fire.’ 

A sharp report rang out and a number dropped, but the others 
pressed undauntedly forward. Again a volley was poured in and 
more of the dark men toppled over. This for a moment checked 
them and it was well it did, as it gave the whites time to reload. 
On they came again, however, hurling their spears, boomerangs, 
and waddies with inconceivable rapidity, and hitting many of the 
horses which now began to give trouble by their restlessness. 

A steady volley thinned their ranks once more, and they broke 
and fell back among a few bushes in their rear. Here a brief 
council was held, a fierce old warrior evidently urging them to 
advance. He prevailed, and at their head, covering his body with 
his shield, the old hero led them on. 

Had he rushed to close quarters, the charge might have been 
fatal to the white men, but the Australian blacks rarely close in 
hand-to-hand combat. Still they pressed closer and yet closer, the 
white men now receiving many wounds. The inspector again 
shouts ‘ Fire,’ and more black forms are stretched on the grass, 
but the old chief still wildly encourages his followers and advances. 
A dozen barrels are levelled at him and at length he sinks to the 
ground, hurling his last shaft at the foe as he falls. The loss of 
their leader was decisive and the savage warriors melted away, the 
Europeans following them up with scattered shots from which a 
few more of them fell. 

When the troopers returned to the battle-ground, the old chief 
was still alive. As they approached, he raised himself on his 
elbow, and after looking in vain for a weapon, spat, with all the 
savage contempt of his race at the victors, then sank back with an 
abusive epithet on his lips and died. Had his colour been white, 
and had he so fallen at Bannockburn or Hastings, or any other 
famous fight for fatherland in the old world, his name would ring 


ii8 


PAVING THE WAY 


in the ears of posterity ; but being a mere Australian savage, who 
died fighting against our religion and civilisation, we can see 
nothing heroic in that. Perhaps he saw dimly, as many of his 
people have clearly seen since, and as the American Indian has 
had occasion to know, that the success of the white man entailed 
the ruin of the aboriginal race. So he preferred to die defiant and 
free, rather than to linger on for a few miserable years in degrada- 
tion and servitude. 

The manner of his death affected the spectators differently. The 
officer who was nearest and received the full benefit of his expec- 
toration, exclaimed, with much disgust, ‘ the filthy old 

reptile ! ’ 

‘ Game to the last ! ’ ejaculated Mr. Danker. 

Grantley and Enfield said nothing, but there was something of 
sorrow and admiration in their silence. 

Corporal Jones (an old soldier) turned the body over — 

‘ Three, four, five bullet wounds all in front, and as many in that 
six inches of shield. He got it hot, sir.’ 

‘ Served him right,’ was the general verdict of the rank and file. 

‘ I believe he is the same old who drove that there spear 

into “ Blucher,” ’ said Bob, the bullock-puncher, as he gave the 
body a kick. 

What became of the wounded ? What can become of them in 
conflicts of this nature ? Some who are not utterly disabled may 
struggle off and ultimately rejoin their tribe, but others, in a worse 
condition, are they to be left in excruciating torture a prey to ants, 
flies, and thirst ? That which is mercifully done to the dying 
brute was done here. . . . 

* Are there any prisoners or wounded of the enemy, corporal, 
to take with us ? ’ demanded the inspector, in calm official tones. 

‘None, sir.’ 

‘ Then forward ! ’ 

The party now beat the country for some miles round without 
finding any natives, and it was obvious they had made off over the 
river. Many dead sheep were seen, and a considerable quantity 
of stores was recovered in their abandoned camps. Later on in 
the day, in a large bend of the Murray, the greater number of the 
sheep were found, and so safe did the whites now feel from farther 
molestation that they divided into twos and threes, so as 
thoroughly to patrol the country. 

In the evening when they assembled at the encampment, it was 
discovered that one of the shepherds was missing, a man of solitary 
habits, known as Tom Tibbs. A search was immediately made 
and his body was found, fearfully mutilated, near where he had 
been left by a comrade. Whether the deed was perpetrated by a 
single survivor of the conflict or a small band of savages bent on 
revenge there was nothing to show. It was just the deed that 
might be expected from such an enemy, though scarcely so sooq 
after his crushing defeat. 


CIVILISING THE BLACKS 


”9 - 


What could be done but bury the dead ? His grave but added 
another to the many, where lie the nameless ones who have fallen 
by the way all over broad Australia. In consequence of this pain- 
ful incident, a more careful watch was kept that night and for 
several nights afterwards, but the last had been seen of the foe. 

‘ We will remain with you to-morrow,’ said the Inspector, ‘ and 
take a final look round, in case the natives have collected and 
want another brush. It will give you a chance of finding any 
stray sheep.’ 

‘ Thanks,’ replied Enfield. ‘ Your proposal exactly falls in with 
our wishes. We have nearly made up our numbers and are far 
more fortunate than we dared to anticipate, and feel deeply 
indebted to you and your troop for a great service rendered in 
the hour of need.’ 

‘ Say no more ; I should doubtless have had the same duty to 
perform in any case, though I am none the less pleased to have 
proved of use to you. I flatter myself that future drovers will be 
little troubled by the savages.’ 

The next morning a count of the flock was made through ‘ a 
break’ of boughs, with satisfactory results. 

‘ More than I expected when looking over them last night,’ said 
Grantley. ‘ I would have accepted a bigger loss when we cut 
and ran the other day.’ 

‘ A score or two of d djumbucks don’t matter much,’ growled 

the bullock-driver; ‘it’s poor Blucher and Duke I’m thinking 
about, the best pair of polers on this side.’ 

‘ Never mind. Bob, you won’t have much of a load,’ said Roland. 

‘ That ain’t it ; it ’s them bullocks bein’ killed like that, and me 
leavin’ them to it. What chance had they, tell me that ? ’ 

‘ Not the ghost of a chance, nor would you if you had stopped 
to take them out.’ 

‘ All the same it was a cowardly, mean action to unhitch the 
leaders’ chain and not wait to pull out the pole-pin. I’d have 
done it, only the d d fool, Blucher, wouldn’t back.’ 

‘ Then it served Blucher right,’ said Roland, ‘ to be left to his 
fate.’ 

‘How could he,’ snarled Bob savagely, ‘when a black 

fellow was jobbing a big spear into him behind ?’ 

‘ I dare say poor Blucher found it difficult, Robert ; but don’t 
trouble about it ; you did right well to save the others.’ 

Somewhat mollified. Bob the Puncher departed to his work, 
muttering — 

‘ I took it out of them niggers to-day, anyhow ; every shot 

I fired I said, this is for Duke and Blucher.’ 

From the above remarks it will be seen that the bullock-driver 
was a profane person ; yet he meant nothing by it, nor was he 
unkind, much less inhuman, at bottom. The animals of his team 
he certainly would ‘wallop,’ and sometimes almost flay alive when 
exasperated by their disobedience or dereliction from duty ; but 


120 


PAVING THE WAY 


let any one else, even his master, try to strike them, and Bob 
resented it like a blow at himself. 

During the day more sheep were found, making up the total to 
within five hundred of the original number. No blacks had been 
seen, and it was evident they had completely left the locality. 
Their loss had been very heavy, and utterly discouraged and 
demoralised they fled, never more to meet the white man in open 
battle. Unable to comprehend the power of his powder and ball, 
they had experienced their deadly effects in the deaths of their 
bravest and best warriors. A small band of the strangers had 
defeated their whole strength without the loss of a single man. 
Surely the Evil One, who smote them with sickness and sent the 
terrible droughts, had also cursed them with the ‘Borees,’ who 
killed men from a greater distance than a spear twice thrown 
could reach. 

There was weeping and wailing for many nights in the camps 
of the tribe, and many were the rites practised and curses invoked 
to blast the white man. All in vain, powerless as their weapons 
against the strangers’ gun, fruitless as the cries that went up from 
the bereft women and children. Poor people, evil times have 
come upon you and your race is doomed to quick extinction. 

Recking nought of this (for when does the all-absorbing Briton 
linger to seriously think of what ultimately becomes of those 
he dispossesses.?) our friends camped together for the last 
night. 

‘We shall take our kidney-fat back to the Protector,’ said Mr. 
Danker; ‘and better news for him still, a tolerably complete 
pacification of the Rufus tribe. I am sorry it is so complete in 
one sense, for I wished him to have a hand in it. He will now 
be able to write the most satisfactory reports to the authorities 
respecting the conduct of the aborigines under his charge, as the 
result of the humane system organised by the Government. But 
I expect, Mr. Inspector, too much prominence won’t be given to 
the particular part of it to which their quiet condition can be 
directly attributed.’ 

‘Don’t be too sarcastic,’ replied the inspector, laughing, ‘or we 
may positively get to dislike you.’ 

‘Under that dire threat I must refrain, since we have to travel 
some days together yet. Touching that old screw of yours, 
Grantley, at Moorundie, no doubt quite broken down by the 
abominable way in which you rode him through that dreadful 
journey, what will you take for him ?’ 

‘ If I wanted to part with him, there is no man I should like to 
have him sooner than you. Danker ; but where I go there goes 
the Star.’ 

‘ Thank you, my boy, if you would have sold a horse like that 
you ought to be kicked. Now I will seek my virtuous couch 
beneath this bush, and, inspector, when next you want volunteers 
to enforce your gospel, “ the huniane system ” I mean, you need 


CIVILISING THE BLACKS 


I2I 


not apply to me. The subsequent reflections are not conducive 
to perfect repose. Thank Heaven, I have neither a Blucher nor 
a Duke to avenge !’ 

Early the following morning the two parties separated — the 
police, accompanied by Danker, to return to Adelaide ; the over- 
landers to crawl along with their flocks. 

Said Mr. Danker to Grantley, as they shook hands, ‘If the 
Star is missing when you reach Moorundie, don’t blame me ; the 
inspector has an eye on him.’ 

‘Depend upon this,’ retorted that worthy, ‘that Mr. Danker 
shall have no opportunity of “lifting” him.’ 

‘ Well, if I got two minutes’ start I ’ll be hanged if all the horses 
in the force could catch me.’ 

‘Ah, but when I am with suspicious characters I watch them 
too closely to allow of two minutes’ start,’ retorted the officer. 

The purposes of this story do not require us to follow the 
movements of either party closely. The members of the relief- 
expedition duly arrived in Adelaide, and were highly complimented 
for the prompt and efficient assistance they had rendered to men 
in hazard of their lives, and for saving to the colony valuable 
stock. 

On arriving at Moorundie the drovers were interested in read- 
ing a full and particular account of their defeat by the blacks and 
the consequent loss of all their property, also a sensational relation 
of the wonderful ride by Mr. Grantley, the march of the police 
to the rescue of the whites at Lake Bonney, and the subsequent 
recovery of the sheep and stores. A few lines were then devoted 
to the repulse of a determined attack made on the party by the 
bloodthirsty savages, in which some of their lives were unavoid- 
ably taken. 

‘And that’s all that will be publicly known about how we settle 
Australia,’ said Grantley, somewhat bitterly. ‘We piously shut 
our eyes to the big slaughters, and cry aloud in horror if a squatter 
or drover, in defence of his life or property, kills a single nigger.’ 

The affable Protector was most kind, and congratulated them 
on their fortunate escape and the recovery of the sheep. 

‘ I believe,’ said he, ‘ that the recent expedition will put an end 
to the attacks by that tribe. I have sent emissaries from the 
friendly natives to tell them that any future disturbance will be 
punished in a similar manner.’ 

‘ I am afraid, sir,’ replied Roland, ‘ that the “ humane system ” 
is, after all, a system of terror.’ 

‘ Say, rather, one inspiring a salutary awe of authority, which 
really is the only way to govern savages. To instil our ideas of 
right and wrong into them, while at the same time we are despoil- 
ing them of their country, is, I admit, a somewhat difficult task, 
that would defy the missionary zeal of an apostle Paul, even if he 
could be induced to undertake it.’ 

The Star was in perfect condition and, no doubt, very pleased 


122 


PAVING THE WAY 


to meet his master and his old equine friends again. At any rate, 
the usual horsey signs of recognition were freely displayed by 
him. 

A fortnight later the long journey terminated, after occupying 
over six months, by the arrival of the party at Encounter Bay, all 
in good health except Enfield. His wound still caused trouble, 
as it had not yet properly healed. He was taken in at Talkee to 
be nursed and made much of. And so ended one of the most 
eventful of the overland expeditions of the early days. 


CHAPTER XX 

ROLAND MISSES HIS CHANCE 

Enfield made rapid progress towards recovery under the careful 
nursing of the ladies of Talkie House. At first Miss Grantley 
considered the case so important that her special attention was 
necessary, but as the patient improved she surrendered her charge 
to the care of Miss Maria, greatly to Enfield’s satisfaction, as 
well as, apparently, to that of the young lady herself. 

‘Take care, young woman,’ said her brother in a bantering 
tone, ‘ or the wounded hero will find his way to your tender 
heart.’ 

‘What nonsense you talk,’ cried the maiden, with a flaming 
face, probably the effect of the weather. ‘I declare Joan shall 
attend on your friend if you say another word.’ 

‘ Perhaps it would be safer,’ he replied, with a roguish twinkle 
in his eye, ‘ but then we may have two tender hearts in trouble. 
Still, if you prefer it, let Joan look after him.’ 

Maria did not wait to continue the discussion, but Roland 
noticed that her attentions to the wants of the patient were in no 
way relaxed. The presiding genius of the family doubtless 
approved, he thought, by which he of course meant his aunt ; 
otherwise steps would be taken to limit, if not entirely to put a 
stop to the fair one’s assiduous attendance. 

Miss Grantley had not alluded to the Cleeves since his return, 
beyond a passing remark, ‘ that the pretty daughter would pro- 
bably now go out to service to support herself and her father, and 
so lead a useful life.’ At which observation Roland ground his 
teeth, but attempted no reply ; he had been taught by previous 
passages of arms that silence was his best course. 

‘ The old cat has determined to separate me from Pet, but she 
never shall, while I love her and she will stick to me. I am 
young, so is she, we will love on and wait.’ 

Jlut though he would not acknowledge it even to himself, h^ 


ROLAND MISSES HIS CHANCE 


123 

began to realise as he had never done before, the difficulties that 
stood in the way of Petrel ever becoming his wife. 

Darkie had acquainted him with all that had occurred to the 
unfortunate Headman. Amputation of one leg at the thigh was 
necessary immediately after his arrival in Adelaide ; the other leg 
was saved, but would be crippled for life. For weeks his life was 
despaired of, and it was only his magnificent constitution that 
carried him through, though he would be a wreck for the rest of 
his days. Auntie and Petrel have nursed him with the utmost 
devotion. The former, when the worst was over, had returned 
home ; but his daughter had refused to leave him for a day, and 
had suffered greatly in health in consequence of the trying ordeal 
through which she had passed. They were now expected home 
daily. 

Roland had been to see auntie the night of his arrival, and 
from her he had heard much of the Headman’s sufferings and the 
troubles of the family ; but when he inquired particularly about 
her niece, he could plainly see that she, who had never approved 
of the intimacy, wished now definitely to discourage it. She had 
indeed early feared that the passion springing up between the 
young people would be productive of evil to the girl, perhaps to 
both, and this conviction had been confirmed when, with a 
woman’s insight, she fathomed Miss Grantley’s determined op- 
position. 

She was greatly depressed about her brother. With tears 
streaming down her withered cheeks she said he never could be 
a man again, and must of course give up all idea of taking an 
active part in the whale-fishery. The owners had been very 
kind ; they had paid all the costs of his illness, including those of 
the journey to Adelaide and back ; he was also to be continued in 
charge of the establishment throughout the year. 

‘ We have saved some money,’ added auntie, ‘ and with my 
ducks, and fowls, and goats, we shall be able to live well enough. 
It’s not that,’ said she tearfully, ‘but think what a fine figure of a 
man he was ! I shall never be able to look at him hobbling about 
without crying. As to Petrel, she will never get over it. She 
was always so proud of him.’ Roland silently pressed her hand 
and left her. < 

He was now only awaiting the return of the Headman and 
Petrel before starting with Darkie to take up country and form a 
station in the Tatiara. The sheep, with the necessary men and 
supplies, were ready, and, as considerable attention had been 
attracted to that portion of the colony lately, he was anxious to be 
early in the locality so as to have first choice. Darkie was very 
keen to start ; he said he could go straight to a splendidly grassed 
and watered tract, far better than any in the Encounter Bay 
district. 

‘ Having with so much trouble brought the sheep over from 
New South Wales for the purpose, I don’t want to lose the oppor- 


124 


PAVING THE WAY 


tunity, you may be sure,’ said Roland, ‘ and we will be off in a few 
days. Floss Gifford follows almost directly after us, so that, if 
any difficulty arises, we can be of mutual assistance.’ 

‘ Now the sheep are shorn they can travel long distances,’ 
replied Darkie ; ‘ even by going round the lakes we can be on the 
ground in a month. A fortnight would do if we could cross at 
the Murray mouth.’ 

Late that night Mr. Cleeve arrived, and of this Grantley had 
taken good care to be early informed. Big Tom’s camp was 
sufficiently near the road for his quick ears to catch the sound of 
wheels at a considerable distance. 

‘ That one big white fellow come up,’ reported the dusky emis- 
sary. ‘Young lubra sit down ’long wheelbarrow, look out you, 
mine see um.’ 

‘ And by Heaven I ’ll look out her,’ said the lover. 

So that when the vehicle drew up at the old cottage, he was 
there to meet them. None other than he should help her down, 
with a warm squeeze of the hand, and as it happened, of the 
slim waist too, with a lingering, loving glance into the sweet 
young face, which already bore the marks of sorrow. Then he 
turned to the man to whom he was so deeply indebted : 

‘ Dear old friend,’ he said, ‘ let me help you.’ 

‘ This is kind of you, Roily, my boy,’ and the voice was hearty 
still, though much of the well-known ring was gone. ‘ Let me 
lean on your shoulder and I can get down.’ 

With some difficulty this was done, and leaning on his crutch 
and Grantley’s arm, the wreck of one of the finest specimens of 
nature’s handiwork hobbled back to his home. Petrel had dis- 
appeared, she could not bear to let her father see her weep. 
Roland almost broke down too, as he mentally compared the 
strong, erect, and perfect form, a model of the strength and 
beauty of manhood, that he remembered so well, with the marred 
creature before him. One limb was gone, its fellow misshapen 
and dwindled away ; the broad, square shoulders were rounded 
and shrunk ; the great arms had lost flesh and muscle too ; and 
the jovial face was thin and pain-worn. No wonder that the 
young man turned aside that he might not show the tears that 
would come. 

‘ Well, auntie, I am glad to be back again, what is left of me,’ 
said Cleeve, with a piteous affectation of gaiety, ‘ the road is long 
for a cripple, and the stumps have shaken me.’ 

‘ Have some supper, brother,’ said the old woman, ‘ and Roland 
must join thee.’ 

‘ Ay, and the little girl ; it will be like old times, and you must 
tell me. Roily, about your trip. The blacks nearly did for some 
of you this time.’ 

Presently Petrel came in, and sat down quietly close to her 
father, and the party grew even almost merry. 

‘ I am better already,’ said Mr. Cleeve, ‘ the sea-air does me 


ROLAND MISSES HIS CHANCE 


125 


good as well as the sight of thee, sister, and Roily in his old 
place. You, little lass, will grow quite hearty again.’ But he 
soon tired, and went to bed. 

‘ Only a few moments, to-night, my Pet,’ whispered her lover, 
but the minutes grew to an hour before they reluctantly parted. 
How could he tear himself from those clinging arms and the 
witchery of the dark blue eyes that never had looked so full of 
love before ? When they parted, he had promised that for a week 
he would defer his departure and spend every evening with her. 

Regardless of Darkie’s expostulations and Miss Grantley’s 
frowns and innuendoes, nearly the whole week was spent in the 
society of Petrel. Again they renewed their rambles over the 
rocks and the Bluff. They rode together, she mounted on the 
Star, who seemed proud of the light burden he bore, as he flew 
along the hard, level beach. With streaming eyes she showed 
him the spot on which she stood on that memorable, dreadful 
day, and watched the struggle with the whales that ended in the 
awful accident to ‘ dear old dad.’ 

It was a week in which his future happiness hung in the 
balance ; when a love, priceless in its truth and purity, was his to 
bind to him for ever. He had put from him, for the time, all 
ignoble thoughts and considerations for the future, or, if he ever 
remembered the price he might be called upon to pay before he 
could make Petrel his wife, the thought was cast aside, as a thing 
not to be endured in this season of joy. 

And when the last night came and she lay weeping in his arms, 
while his eyes aflame with the passion that surged through his 
veins looked into hers, she felt that she could deny nothing to a 
love that seemed so true and deep ; he was her hero without 
whom life would be shorn of all its brightness. Why linger over 
the lovers’ parting ? Those precious moments can never be 
forgotten to the latest day of existence. They will often be re- 
called by the storm-tossed man in the silent watches of the long 
sleepless nights with a vain remorse, and yet thought of so 
tenderly by him and cherished as the nearest approach to perfect 
bliss to which mortal can attain. Ah, however, he may look back 
upon it, he then stood at his highest, loved alike and loving ; 
and, if in later days he could have always thought as much of 
her and as little of himself as he did then, life would have 
assumed its brightest hues for both of them. If he could but 
have caught a glimpse of the warp and woof of destiny the three 
Weird Sisters were weaving for him even then, he would surely 
have turned again to the Headman’s bedside and claimed her 
as his bride ; but he hesitated and then strode away. Fool ! 
you have missed the chance, that comes but once to the most 
fortunate of men. When they meet again, he will be stained 
with crime and his heart hardened, even to her, with pride and 
selfishness. 


126 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XXI 

GATHERING CLOUDS 

In what is now known as the South-East District of South Aus- 
tralia, on the bank of a pretty creek, there was, at the period we 
have now reached, an encampment. A small one it was, it is 
true, consisting of only two tents with a fire burning before each, 
nearly between them standing a cart, such as drovers use to carry 
necessary supplies, which was still only partially unloaded, though 
there was other evidence to show that the settlement was in- 
tended to be permanent. Two yards for sheep had already been 
erected, and stronger proof still of a determination to remain was 
the frame-work of a hut close by the side of the stream. At this 
one man was hard at work, v/hile a little way off was a bullock 
team driven by another laboriously dragging a dray loaded with 
timber for the same building. 

It is evening, and from opposite directions two flocks of sheep 
may be seen approaching attended by their shepherds and the 
inevitable dog. A horseman, leaving them, rides up to the work- 
man at the hut. There is no mistaking the horse, with the pure 
white star shining in the centre of the wide forehead. As the 
rider comes up, he springs lightly to the ground, removes the 
saddle, carefully wipes the heated back, and then leads the horse 
to the creek and as carefully washes it down. Adjusting the 
hobbles after rubbing the sinewy fetlocks with his hand, he takes 
the bridle off with the words — 

‘You know where the mob is, old boy,’ and this the Star 
evidently does, for he moves off in the right direction at once. 

‘Well, Darkie,’ says Grantley, as he again draws near the 
builder, ‘ you are getting on w^ell with our future habitation, and 
I shall be able to bear a hand myself to-morrow. The sooner it 
is done the safer we shall be. Lawn’s people have been threat- 
ened by the black wretches, they tell me. By-the-by, we thought 
they had located themselves twenty miles away, but it’s not more 
than fifteen. Coming back I called on Floss ; he has fixed on a 
nice situation, and says the country is good ; but none like ours, 
thanks to your early acquired knowledge, when you roamed these 
glades and woods a native warrior. Young Lawn says the blacks 
showed up one evening and demanded various articles, princi- 
pally tomahawks, pipes, and tobacco. They evidently know how 
to smoke. Of course, remembering our compact, I did not say 
so, but probably they owe that accomplishment to you. At day- 
light next morning they appeared again in a blustering manner 
and, to judge from their signs and gestures, they were going to 
play old gooseberry and break things, so a few shots were fired ; 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


127 


not at all unlikely a great many, as young Lawn is a decided 
fire-eater. Since then some sheep were cut off in thick scrub, 
and, when they were recovered, at least a score of them had their 
legs broken, no doubt to enable the noble savage subsequently 
to obtain the meat at his leisure. This they did, for the whites 
were unable to drive the poor brutes, and had to leave them to be 
brought in by the dray on the following day ; and, when it went 
for them, they were gone.’ 

Darkie’s face grew grave. ‘ It ’s a bad beginning,’ said he, ‘ the 
only way with these fellows is to keep them at a distance, at any 
rate for a time. That wreck business taught them the value of 
- our tools, and gave them a taste for tobacco. Then again they 
had no difficulty in that collision with the whites, and naturally 
despise us as fighters. We shall have to teach them differently 
before they will feel a proper re'^pect for us.’ 

‘ Then you expect that we shall have to fight them yet ? ’ in- 
quired Grantley. 

‘ I do, but very likely not here at the station, though that is 
possible enough. They will be on the watch for the sheep a6 
they were at Lawn’s, and, when they are followed up, if in good 
cover, they will show fight, and then they are not to be despised, 
particularly where water is about, and they can sink themselves 
among the reeds until a favourable chance offers of doing for 
you.’ 

‘ It’s a charming picture you paint for a peaceful man to con- 
template ; lurking black devils waiting on land or in the water to 
spear the unfortunate owner, after breaking the legs of his sheep 
and making them of no further possible use to him.’ 

‘You are a good-plucked one,’ said Darkie, ‘and may as well 
know the whole truth at once, but that you did before I spoke.’ 

‘ So I did ; how could it be otherwise after the many long talks 
we have had together, when discussing the question of coming 
here at all? Now that we have come, however, I am not going 
to allow the aboriginal possessor of the soil, whatever his rights 
may be, to break my sheep’s legs with impunity ; much less my 
own. By-the-by, there is that amiable epicurean taste you say 
they cherish for the white man’s internal fat ; kidney fat, wasn’t 
it? For anointing purposes only, let us hope. Do they think it 
imparts a peculiar gloss to their black hides, much admired by 
the aboriginal gentle sex?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ answered Darkie, ‘perhaps it is all a myth. Cer- 
tainly such a craving can only be recently acquired, as their 
acquaintance with our race is as yet only of brief duration.’ 

‘ Ah yes, yours was the first introduction, and the closest scrutiny 
by the keenest eye among the native epicures could never have 
detected any fat, internal or external, about you. It comes to this 
then, that, if their brutal instincts have been gratified at all, it has 
been at the expense of my poor companions of the Mary* And 
with a frown on his brow, he added in a low voice, ‘ If we do come 


128 PAVING THE WAY 

into collision, “ God do so to me and more also,” if I do not 
requite it.’ 

His companion looked at him. Was that a smile of satisfaction 
that appeared for a moment on his face? If so, it passed off without 
being noticed. 

At this early period in the history of the colony, a considerable 
settlement took place in the south-east districts. Enterprising 
young men taking their lives in their hands drove their flocks 
before them on to the tracts of country they desired to occupy. 
In this they were encouraged by the Government, all parties hop- 
ing that collisions with the blacks would be avoided. On the broad 
expanse of territory there seemed room for all, and no one really 
understood that the natives were divided into many hostile tribes, 
which utterly refused to enter into friendly relations with each 
other, or to permit any encroachment on their respective domains. 

As to providing any protection for the settlers, that was quite 
impossible. How could a few police control the numerous tribes 
scattered over the enormous area which was, even at that time, in 
course of occupation by the energetic Europeans ? They were, 
indeed, principally engaged in keeping order among the lawless 
whites, who were scattered over the more settled districts, and 
who, indeed, required much supervision for the protection of the 
law-abiding. In such duties the mounted police of that time were 
most efficient. They were splendidly organised and officered ; 
they were almost ubiquitous ; and to them the colonists were in- 
debted for the tranquillity that prevailed. 

It is difficult even now, with the light of past experience to guide 
us, to understand what could have been done to prevent the blood- 
shed between the squatters and the aborigines. The latter were 
too numerous, as compared with the former, and too confident in 
their power of resistance, to submit without a struggle to be de- 
prived of even portions of their country, while their cupidity was, 
of course, excited by the stranger’s riches. Later, undoubtedly, 
much might have been done by the judicious reservation of exten- 
sive tracts of territory, and by partially stocking them under white 
supervision for the sole use of the people who were dispossessed. 
Nothing of the kind, however, worthy of mention was ever 
attempted, and until each successive tribe, which had been come 
in contact with had dwindled down to a few individuals, they and 
the occupiers of their land had virtually been left to settle the 
matter between them. 

Certainly, as we have already seen, a Protector of Aborigines 
was appointed even in the early times, but his powers were, in 
practice, extremely limited outside the districts immediately sur- 
rounding the capital. The more enterprising squatter who struck 
out into the terra incognita beyond was out of reach of these 
influences and whatever protection they afforded. 

Being, however, still amenable to the laws governing the whole 
community, he could only legally proceed in the usual way against 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


129 


the native aggressor, who stole his sheep, speared his cattle, robbed 
his huts, or threatened or maltreated his employes. To take out 
a summons or warrant entailed hundreds of miles of hard riding 
and days of absence from his business, first to obtain the authority, 
and then to find an officer to execute it. That done, what then ? 
The black delinquent was in his native wilds, neither to be found 
without great difficulty, nor to be identified to the satisfaction of 
the law, if found. Meantime, encouraged by impunity, the ag- 
gressor went on ; until in defence of his property, or even of his 
life, the squatter took the matter into his own hands, and with 
powder and ball effectually protected both. Often when exasper- 
ated by losses and by the wanton destruction of his animals, or in 
fear of his own life and the lives of those depending on him, he 
too gave rein to the brutal instinct of slaughter that seems 
inherent in man, and then it simply came to be a question of the 
survival of the fittest. 

Men who in the ordinary vocations of life were kind and 
humane have often been heard to sum the subject up in the terse 
remark : ‘ The black man must go under ; ’ and by this they 
meant that he must ‘go under’ in the most summary manner 
known to our race, which does not admit of much time for the 
slower, though not less sure, processes of civilisation to work his 
destruction. 

The characters sketched in this story were in the position re- 
ferred to in the preceding remarks : far from the settlements, sur- 
rounded by some of the fiercest of the native tribes of Australia, 
and entirely dependent upon themselves. It is not to be wondered 
at if, under these circumstances, deeds were committed at which 
humanity shudders. It is generally assumed that the blacks were 
the aggressors. No doubt they were so, by stealing sheep and 
cattle ; but that was in retaliation for their country having previously 
been taken possession of, and in this respect it cannot be disputed 
that the white man was the aggressor. 

The first settlers were, of course, the first to be attacked, but the 
trouble soon spread. The Lawns had vigorously defended them- 
selves and their property, and for a time were not further molested ; 
probably they had instilled a wholesome terror into the savages, 
who are ever quick to observe any sign of weakness in their op- 
ponents. These outrages by the blacks had been duly reported 
to the proper authorities, and, after some weeks of delay, a small 
party of police visited the district and made some attempts to 
capture the supposed ringleaders. In a few instances they suc- 
ceeded, and the prisoners were taken to Adelaide for trial, which 
ended in a mere farce, as proof was practically impossible. The 
whites refused to leave their stations for so long a period, and 
declined to prosecute, or even denied that they* knew anything 
against the prisoners, in order to avoid the loss their absence 
would have entailed. 

After this little attention was paid to the Tatiara, the settlers 

I 


130 


PAVING THE WAY 


were left to their own devices, and for a while the blacks, though 
always troublesome, made no serious attacks. As more country 
was taken up by new settlers, things grew worse, and an out- 
rage of a peculiarly atrocious nature was committed at a lately 
formed station, not far from Grantley’s. Reprisals followed, and 
it became evident that the whole of the aborigines in the neigh- 
bourhood were in a state of agitation. Petty thefts of stores or 
sheep were frequent ; and then the natives, growing bolder, made 
an attack on a shepherd in the employment of Enfield and Gifford. 
The man escaped by abandoning his flock ; and this was subse- 
quently recovered with the loss of a couple of hundred sheep. 
Many of the neighbours joined in the pursuit, and were greatly 
exasperated by finding numbers of the unfortunate animals with 
their legs broken, as usual. 

Being overtaken on the edge of a lake, the robbers easily 
escaped by taking to the water, and added to the chagrin of their 
baffled pursuers by their triumphant and insulting jeers. That 
day many vows of vengeance were registered, to be amply fulfilled 
on future occasions. 

A week later a shepherd of Grantley’s was set upon by a strong 
gang late in the afternoon. He was on horseback, otherwise he 
would certainly have been killed ; as it was, he reached the head 
station only slightly wounded. As this attack had been preceded 
by the murder of a man and the driving away of his flock in a 
remote part of the district, and as every owner had enough to do 
to protect his own property, it seemed useless to seek assistance. 
Grantley and Darkie, therefore, determined to follow up the 
marauders alone, and to take such vengeance as should deter 
them from committing any more of these outrages. 

Early the next morning they rode, fully armed, straight to the 
place which the shepherd described as the scene of the attack. 
The trail was easy to follow by the dead and mutilated sheep, 
some with only one leg broken, others with two, three, or all four 
fractured. This continued for about three miles, till they reached 
the spot where the blacks had camped for the night, as the fires 
indicated, as well as the remains of more animals which had been 
wantonly slaughtered. 

It was not a sight to fit a man to act as judge of his own wrongs, 
or to be merciful in the execution of the sentence he had passed. 
Without uttering a word, but thinking over the many times he had 
come in contact with the savages and the injuries he had received, 
Roland rode on. Suddenly, behind some undergrowth, thirty or 
forty blacks were to be seen, waddies and spears in hand, amusing 
themselves by killing his sheep ; so intent were they, laughing 
and jabbering over their work, that the approach of the white 
foes was unnoticed. 

‘Slay and spare not,’ he muttered, and after careful aim two 
shots rang out with fatal effect. At first the blacks made a show 
of standing, but when two or three more had fallen they ran for 


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Withtout the smallest repugnance or concern he began piling up dried 
wood, dead black men, and defunct sheep in a heap together. 


GATHERING CLOUDS 


131 

the water as usual. Unfortunately for them it was shallow, and 
the white men pursued, hotly firing wherever a black form could 
be distinguished in the disturbed pool Ten or a dozen were 
killed and many more wounded before a halt was made. 

‘ Let the crippled wretches go,’ said Grantley, as Darkie seemed 
inclined to follow a few whose movements showed they were hard 
hit. ‘They have got enough this time to serve as a practical 
lesson, I think. But why on earth do you want to look at each 
carcase? Do you expect to recognise some old acquaintance?’ 

Darkie did not answer, but continued to examine the face ot 
each body they came to ; and on one occasion, when it was the 
corpse of an elderly man, he turned it chest uppermost. Appar- 
ently satisfied, he said — 

‘ No, I have no particular recollection of any of them, except 
the old man, and he was as big a villain as men of his colour are 
made ; not quite equal to what the owner of a white skin can be 
when he tries, but still a very respectable rascal. He is not the 
man I am seeking, though. Now, what are we to do with all this 
carrion?’ he continued, pointing to the bodies. ‘Put them all in 
a heap with the dead sheep and bum them is my advice. We 
cannot leave them putrefying here.’ 

‘That would be too horrible,’ said Grantley, ‘if one had to 
come this way again soon. As there is plenty of wood, we will do 
it to-night. It may be that their countrymen will take them away 
meanwhile, and save us the trouble. Now, let us collect the sheep 
and drive them home.’ 

This was done, and when the flock was counted the loss was 
ascertained to be over a hundred. 

‘ Squatting won’t pay if this sort of thing goes on,’ observed the 
owner; ‘nor is it an agreeable occupation, when attended with 
frequent blackbird-shooting on a large scale. Possibly one may 
become accustomed to the excitement after sufficient practice, but 
I can’t help feeling that the poor devils have paid too high a price 
for the hundred “jumbucks.” ’ 

‘ What about your companions on the Coorong ? Besides, if 
wholesale slaughter of sheep were permitted, you might as well 
give up every one you possess at once and clear out.’ 

‘ That is so,’ replied the squatter, ‘ and I am not made of the 
stuff to do that. They will have to wipe me out, or I will accom- 
plish my object.’ 

In the evening they returned to the scene of the fight to find the 
whole of the bodies still there, proving that the blacks had not 
ventured back. 

‘I didn’t think they would,’ said Darkie; ‘they have had too 
great a fright, and will give us a wide berth for some time to come. 

And without the smallest repugnance or concern he began piling 
up dried wood, dead black men, and defunct sheep in a heap 
together. Roland confined his efforts to the timber and sheep, 
but worked hard, evidently with the object of getting an unplea- 


132 


PAVING THE WAY 


sant task completed as quickly as possible. A match was applied, 
and the whole rapidly became enveloped in flames, which rose 
higher and burned more fiercely every moment. 

‘ Now we will burn the sheep lying further back,’ said Darkie. 

‘Need we do that?’ asked Grantley. 

‘Decidedly,’ replied the other ; ‘we must burn the dead sheep, 
both to prevent the blacks who have killed them using them for 
food, as that would encourage them in further depredations, and 
to avoid a nuisance.’ 

‘ I quite understand, and it is only carrying out a practice I have 
always adopted in other parts of the country ; the sooner we get 
it done the better.’ 

When the task was completed, they mounted their horses and 
rode fast home, like men glad to leave the spot. 

‘This is an episode in my life,’ said the younger man, ‘which I 
hope it will not be necessary to repeat.’ 

‘For us, perhaps not,’ said Darkie ; ‘but I am quite persuaded 
that it will have to be frequently repeated on a much larger scale 
before this continent is peopled by Europeans, and their flocks 
and herds can roam in peace over their pastures.’ 

‘ Well, it is an ugly subject for any man to reflect upon, but it 
is difficult to see how something of the kind is to be avoided, if 
we Britishers are to continue our mission of going forth “ to sub- 
due and replenish the earth.”’ 


CHAPTER XXII 

d.\rkie’s flight 

Reports of the conflicts between the settlers and the aborigines 
no doubt reached Adelaide in an exaggerated form, though mat- 
ters had arrived at such a stage that exaggeration was needless. 
Once more the authorities took action, spurred on by the fact, now 
generally well known and publicly condemned, that many blacks 
had been shot in a cold-blooded and remorseless manner, in con- 
sequence of the supineness with which the squatters’ demands for 
protection had been treated. 

A revulsion of feeling in favour of the black men had set in, and 
it was understood that, if a white man was charged with the mur- 
der of a black, it would go hard with him, if the case were moder- 
ately strong. It has often been thus in the Australian colonies ; 
at times the settler has scarcely dared to raise his hand to defend 
his life, much less his property ; though it must be admitted that 
more frequently the reverse would be the case, and the unfortunate 
savage would be left practically at the mercy of his enemy. 


DARKIE’S FLIGHT 


133 


A detachment of police was despatched to the Tatiara, under 
the command of an experienced officer, to inquire into the charges 
and make arrests where evidence could be obtained. For some 
time the ostensible reason assigned for the presence of the force 
in the district was the necessity for keeping the blacks in order ; 
but information was sought and obtained which implicated young 
Lawn and his overseer, and it ended in their arrest on a charge of 
murdering a camp of men, women, and children. They were sent 
to the capital as prisoners under the escort of several troopers, the 
remainder being still stationed in the neighbourhood. 

It soon became evident to Grantley that Darkie had become 
very uneasy, and he was confirmed in this opinion by the way the 
latter watched the approach of any stranger, and then found some 
reason for absenting himself. At last he spoke — 

‘ I had better be candid, Grantley. You have never known my 
history, and I have loved you for never seeking to know it and 
taking me on trust. Well, we have something more important on 
hand than talking about my past. Enough that I am a true 
Bohemian, whose record is not a very bad one, among those whom 
a paternal Government have sent here for their own and their 
country’s good. That much you know already, but you do not 
know that all the “ old hands ” are in communication with me, 
and to-day I have heard that the police mean to arrest us both to 
answer for the little business at the swamp. They have found 
human bones among the cinders, or say that they have, and sus- 
pect more than they can prove. Now, Roland Grantley, I love 
you more than any man or woman I have yet met save one ; but 
I love life more, and when they offer me pardon for’ — in a low 
tone, and with averted face — ‘what I can tell, as they will do, I 
cannot trust myself. Therefore I must fly to-night, and get out of 
the country at once. With me away there is absolutely no evi- 
dence against you, and none can be obtained, for we acted alone, 
and no word has passed my lips relative to that matter to any 
living being.’ 

In silence, and with a set and stony look, the other had listened ; 
now he spoke — 

‘So far you have been plain enough with me, and I believe 
every word you have uttered. But where will you fly, and how ?’ 

‘ By the Coorong beach to the whalers at Encounter Bay. They 
will help to put me on board an American whaling ship. Many 
of this class of vessel call at Kangaroo Island. The freemasonry 
that exists among us will pass me, both at the Fishery and on the 
Island, where there are many “old hands.” As to how ; let me 
have the Star, and, once out of bullet-range, not a horse in the 
force, or in all South Australia for that matter, will keep in sight 
of me.’ 

‘ It is well planned,’ said Roland, ‘and shall be carried out. I 
have money, too, here that shall be yours.’ 

‘ That is generous to a man who acknowledges that he would 


134 


PAVING THE WAY 


betray you to save his own neck. Perhaps, in ordinary circum- 
stances, I might refuse their bribes, and bear their cross-question- 
ing ; but there is a great chance of a big fortune being mine yet, 
and I cannot give that up — I cannot tell you now, but we shall 
meet again some day, when this has blown over. Now let us pre- 
pare ; I had an object in keeping the Star in the stable and feed- 
ing him up. My informant tells me that the police will not be 
here before midnight, because they think that is the safest time to 
pounce upon us. It is now ten, so that no time is to be lost. 
First, give me your instructions for the ride ; your head is clearer 
than mine.’ 

‘ It is very possible,’ replied Roland after a pause, ‘ that some 
troopers may be patrolling the Coorong ; and, if so, you with your 
jaded horse may have to contend with their fresh ones. That is 
the greatest danger, granting that you get clear away from here. 
You must, therefore, keep something in the Star for a spurt near 
“ the Mouth,” or before you reach it. Do not push on when the 
tide is high, as I believe it will be in the daytime, but camp to 
spare the horse. It is necessary, too, that you should arrive at the 
Murray Mouth in the night, so as to reach Encounter Bay before 
daylight for one reason, and, for another, because it must be sup- 
posed that you are drowned in attempting to swim over.’ 

‘ I understand,’ said Darkie ; ‘ it is excellent so far.’ 

‘ On reaching the Mouth you must try and not rouse Old Jake ; 
it is better that he should know nothing about your move- 
ments. We will hope that he is away, as he often is, up at the 
Elbow with his boat. If not, and you can let it go down the cur- 
rent without his knowledge, do so. Should that be impossible, 
and you are obliged to trust him, then give him twenty pounds to 
ferry you over, and start for the Elbow, or anywhere else out of 
the way, and tell him that I will give him fifty more if you get 
clear off. You will understand that much depends on the boat 
not being there to ferry the police over ; that is one important 
point. Another is, that no trace of you after you reach the river 
should be found. In the event of Old Jake being away, ride in at 
once, and mind you unbuckle the reins as you come up. Neglect 
of this means in all probability drowning the Star as well as your- 
self, as in swimming he would be sure to put his foot through the 
hanging loop and drag his head under. The moment he strikes 
out, drop into the water alongside with one hand on his mane, 
swimming with the other and your feet so as to help him, and my 
life on it he takes you over. This is no new thing for you ; we 
have often practised the horses in that way. 

‘ Now, pay particular attention. Directly the Star touches land, 
mount him quickly before he leaves the water, so that no trace 
of you is left on the shore. All signs of you— that is, of your 
tracks— must be lost after entering the river. If pursued, it is 
more important still that you should mount before quitting the 
water and without being seen. To do this, fling one foot over the 


DARKIE’S FLIGHT 


135 


saddle and hang thus with your arm round his neck, keeping his 
body between you and the police, until out of sight. Don’t get in 
a line with the white surf, or they may be able to distinguish your 
form. 

‘ Then ride on to near Talkie, being careful to pass well out 
behind the police station on the Point without attracting notice. 
Dismount in the river Inman and turn the Star loose, taking off 
the bridle and carrying it with you ; he will go on to Talkie. 
Then walk in the water to the sea, and along in the edge of that 
to the Fishery. You will then have left no possible trace of your- 
self, unless you are mad or careless enough to drop something ; 
to make sure of not doing so, you had better carry nothing that can 
be lost. Once at the Fishery, risk nothing, but let them take you 
out immediately in a boat to the rocks we know of behind the 
Bluff, where you will find shelter and safety. All this, however, 
I leave to them. There is one who, for my sake, will serve you, 
if woman can.’ 

Darkie had listened with his eyes intently fixed on the other’s 
face. 

‘ It is splendidly conceived, and I will carry it out to the letter. 
Of the Mouth I have no fear ; the Star will take me through even 
that. I will at once saddle him and make a start ; it is better 
not to defer it to the last moment, for then I might not be so sure 
of getting away without being seen.’ 

They passed out to the stable where the horse stood crunching 
his corn. As he led him out, Darkie listened. 

‘ By heaven, they are coming,’ he whispered. ‘ I’ll go by the 
back through the trees.’ 

‘ Farewell,’ said the other ; ‘ and above all remember to unbuckle 
the reins at the river.’ 

They wrung each other’s hands and parted — to meet they knew 
not where nor when. With scarcely a sound the horse and his 
rider had entered the trees ; a few more moments and he would 
be gone. Suddenly a voice rang forth loud and clear, ‘ Who goes 
there ? ’ There was no answer. ‘ Stand in the Queen’s name, or 
I fire ! ’ was then shouted, and this was followed by a shot and the 
rapid beat of galloping hoofs. 

Roland had gone quickly into the hut, and now opened the 
door, through which the light shone. He had scarcely done so 
when a trooper rode up. 

‘Who is that who has just ridden away, Mr. Grantley?’ he 
asked. 

‘ My overseer, I believe,’ was the calm reply ; ‘ but what the 
shots are about perhaps you can tell me.’ 

‘Why did he not stand, when ordered ?’ 

‘That you must ask him— if, indeed, it was he ; perhaps it was 
some one else. It is some little time since he left me for the outer 
station, to count the flocks in the morning.’ 

The sergeant now rode up at a rapid pace. 


PAVING THE WAY 


136 

‘ I arrest you, Mr. Grantley,* he said ; ‘ but if you will pledge 
your word not to attempt to escape, I will leave you at liberty.’ 

‘ Thank you, sergeant — that I cheerfully do ; but I would like to 
know the charges. Your little attentions are so abrupt that I 
might well have been surprised into resistance if I did not know 
you so well.’ 

‘At present it is the general one of shooting the blacks.’ 

‘ It is true enough that I have shot at them several times in my 
life, but always in self-defence ; I should not be alive to tell the 
tale if I had not. However, I am your prisoner, charge or no 
charge. I imagine it will only be a temporary inconvenience, 
which you gentlemen appear to bestow with great impartiality 
upon a good many of us squatters just now.’ 

Darkie, when challenged, had nearly threaded his way through 
the trees at the back of the station and was just about to enter 
the open. Without hesitation, he turned his horse again into the 
timber and rode rapidly away at a gallop, regardless of the ill- 
directed shots. The direction he was obliged to take was not 
straight, but, knowing the country well, he soon passed out of 
range of his pursuers and then made direct for the coast, depend- 
ing on the gallant horse for increased speed, if required. Almost 
without an effort the Star covered the ground with his even, 
measured stride, the spring of which was so great that the falling 
feet gave hardly a sound, while behind him the heavy thud and 
thrash of the troopers’ horses’ hoofs echoed loudly. Looking 
back with a sardonic smile, Darkie muttered — 

‘You will get tired of this pace presently, my friends. While 
you, my lad,’ with a caressing touch of his hand on the long 
neck, ‘ can keep it up for ever, if need be. Easy, old boy,’ as the 
horse bounded on. ‘ We will let them keep within hail and blow 
themselves well, under the impression that they may catch us 
before we reach the beach. By that time they will be pretty well 
pumped, and on the hard sand we can skim away like a bird on 
the wing and leave them far behind.’ 

There were fine riders and horses too among the police force of 
that day, but, weighted with their accoutrements and determined 
upon a quick capture, they had little chance when competing with 
an animal of the Star’s calibre, carrying his light, spare, accom- 
plished rider. Unaware of how he was mounted, and deceived by 
his regulated pace, they believed that they were riding him down, 
and pressed on more furiously. Now could be heard the roar of 
the ever-beating surf as they approached the coast, and presently, 
as the fugitive mounted the sandhills, his figure was plainly seen, 
sharply defined against the white foam. 

‘ He is going to take to the beach ; we will overtake him on the 
hard sand.’ 

And they raced on at the utmost speed of their horses. But the 
Star was now stretching himself to his work. With dilated nostril 
and flashing eye, in the joy and pride of his mighty strength and 


DARKIE’S FLIGHT 


137 


endurance, he swept away ; his rider, sitting easy and low, had 
entered into the elation of the race. 

‘ Catch us, my prince of horses ! they might as well chase the 
wind.’ 

They must have come to the same conclusion, for the clatter of 
the hoofs died gradually away ; then, glancing over his shoulder, 
Darkie saw his pursuers grow less and less in the distance, until 
they were lost to view. 

‘We can see a long way on this shore, even at night,’ said he 
to the horse, ‘but they are not nearly far enough astern yet. On, 
on, on, my brave boy j we must put many long miles between us 
and them before we stop for our midday camp.’ 

He knew that among the troopers there were many men who, 
once on the trail, would never leave it while the remotest hope of 
running the quapy down remained. They would plod deter- 
minedly on, certainly as long as the tide was low, and it might be 
even later, in hopes of surprising him camping. Or possibly 
they were aware of their comrades being on the Coorong or at 
the Mouth, and would hurry on to obtain fresh horses and assist- 
ance. 

‘ Warily I will work,’ thought he ; ‘ they have got to do with an 
old hand, up to all the dodges of the bush and the police too. 
We will cover every inch of ground we can, brave old Star, up to 
high tide, without taking too much out of you, and then camp. I 
know where to find water for us both. Then you shall feed and 
rest, and I will watch. Such was the programme laid down by 
your master, and wisely too. I wonder he did not shoot me 
when I told him I should be sure to turn Queen’s evidence ; but 
what could I do ? Certainly not hang, with such a chance of 

finding the Jew’s treasure. D n it, I did think in that shooting 

business to have potted Talco and recovered the box. I caught a 
glimpse of him one day, after the sick lubra told me he was about. 
Well, I must give it up for a while now, till this blows over and I 
can return under other colours.’ 

When morning broke, no signs were to be seen of the pursuers ; 
but still the fugitive rode on, until the advancing tide made travel- 
ling hard. Then he turned into the sandhills, such as have been 
described in Roland’s memorable flight from the savages. After 
climbing one and carefully taking his bearings, he rode through 
the bushes for a few hundred yards to a native well, the water of 
which was nearly level with the surface. Both he and the Star 
drank freely, then he took off the saddle and, hobbling the horse, 
put him to feed on some green grass near. Before leaving the 
beach he had eaten a few cockles, and now to conclude his break- 
fast he gathered a handful of montries, a small indigenous berry 
with the flavour of a sour apple. 

‘I have still a piece of bread left,’ he said to himself; ‘that 
must be kept till later on. No one need suffer from hunger on 
this coast, unless he is too dainty to eat cockles.’ 


PAVING THE WAY 


138 

Then he mounted a high hummock and searched with keen 
glance for signs of human beings. There were no indications of 
the approach of the troopers, but it was possible they had left the 
beach on account of the rising tide and were coming along the 
lake side, or winding through the sandhills where he could not see 
them. Either way would be heavy, so that it was probable that they 
had camped until the receding water admitted of travelling along 
the beach again. Feeling sleepy, after about a couple of hours 
he thought it would be safe to move on a short distance from the 
well. 

‘ They may know of this water,’ he muttered, ‘ and make for 
it.’ 

So he saddled the Star, took another hearty drink, and rode 
on until he came to another nice patch of grass, where he again 
hobbled the horse without removing the saddle ; then he sat down 
to watch him eat. Presently he dozed, or was it a deep sleep ? 
A sudden movement of the Star roused him, and at the well he 
could hear the jingle of a trooper’s accoutrements, probably of a 
saddle thrown on the ground. 

Yes, by the position of the sun he had undoubtedly slept, in 
forgetfulness of Roland’s warning, and they had overtaken him — 
fool, utter fool that he was ! But all was not lost yet ; they cer- 
tainly had not seen him, though unquestionably they knew he was 
near, from the tracks at the water. 

Without a sound he put the bit in the horse’s mouth and silently 
stole off. From a knoll he could see the spring and one horse 
there, cropping the grass, while the rider lay stretched out by his 
saddle. It was a grey animal, the best in the troop and the one 
that had pressed closest in the chase. He saw it all now. They 
had picked out the fleetest steed and the lightest weight to ride 
on and give information to the patrol, somewhere on this side of 
the Mouth ; but where ? — that was the question. If far on, the Star 
would with scarcely an effort leave that tired animal labouring in 
the rear. On the contrary, if he fell in with it soon, fresh horses 
would join in the pursuit. What matters that ? His noble steed 
had drunk, fed, and rested, and could still defy the whole police 
force. 

He had lingered too long, however ; for the trooper’s horse 
raised his head, and with a whinny acknowledged the presence of 
his rival. The recumbent man sprang to his feet in time to catch 
a glimpse of the fugitive as he disappeared in the bushes. To 
mount and follow, when the quarry is in full view, is the clear duty 
of an officer of justice, and this fellow possessed the true instinct. 
But he reached the beach only to see the Star and his rider flying 
on at a speed that convinced him of the futility of pursuit. 

‘ I must hunt up the patrol,’ he said ; ‘ they can’t be far on. 

What a idiot I was not to follow the tracks first, and spell 

after ! I should have had him then, with both reward and pro- 
motion. Well, I never had any luck. On second thoughts, I 


DARKIE’S FLIGHT 


139 


should not have got him, unless I had surprised him asleep ; for 
I ’ll bet my life that is young Grantley’s Star he is riding, the best 
horse on this side. Come along, Greydog ; I am going to ride you 
to a standstill, or find the patrol before dark.’ 


CHAPTER XXIII 

A DEED OF DERRING-DO 

In less than an hour the patrol was found, and, though Darkle 
knew it not, three men on good horses were rapidly following his 
tracks. 

‘ If we ride hard we must catch him before he can rouse Old 
Jake and cross the river, even though he be on this famous Star ; 
and, by the way, the journey he has done already must tell on any 
horse. It has told on Greydog, anyhow.’ 

‘Well,’ said another, ‘ I saw what that horse did on the Murray, 
where the travelling is up to your knees in sand, sticks, stumps, 
and stones, to say nothing of mallee scrub to break through. On 
this hard sand he will just fly. I don’t believe, if we were up with 
him, that we should see the way he went.’ 

‘ There is a good chance that Jake won’t be there ; he will be 
away with the boat at the Elbow for our supplies, as like as not ; 
and then how is this fellow to manage ? He can’t fly over the 
river, or swim either ; the current is running fifty miles an hour.’ 

‘No,’ said the first who had spoken. ‘No man would be mad 
enough to try that, particularly at night ; even the blacks don’t 
like it, and never swim it without wading up the lake to get a good 
offing.’ 

When again in rapid motion and out of sight of the trooper, 
Darkie felt almost in safety. It seemed scarcely credible that 
more police were near, and, if not, what had he, on his matchless 
steed, to fear from the solitary man on the worn-out animal they 
had left far behind, almost as if he were standing still. At any 
rate, it would not be wise to strain the endurance of his horse too 
much ; it was better to have a reserve of strength if an emergency 
should arise. So he reduced the gallop to a canter, and even then, 
with his long, even stride, the Star passed over the hard, level sand 
at a surprising pace. 

As the sun sank he reined in and scrutinised the coast behind 
with a close and concentrated gaze. Was that some object far, 
far away, on the very line of surf? It might be so ; and, to make 
sure, he dismounted and, walking to the top of a rise, looked again. 
No ; it was a mere motionless black speck. Greatly reassured, 
he descended and more leisurely resumed his journey. 


140 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ Midnight will be early enough to cross the river,’ he thought ; 
‘ that will allow ample time to reach the Fishery before daylight, 
and get under cover too.’ 

Once he stopped to satisfy his hunger on the cockles in the sand, 
and perhaps stayed longer than he thought, for when he drew the 
reins together to mount, the Star tossed up his head with a quick, 
startled movement. Is that the sound of clattering hoofs, or 
merely the ripple of the spent tide at his feet ? The excitement of 
the horse tells him, even without looking, that the troopers are 
near, and horse and rider once more dash swiftly away, the latter 
feeling it to be the final struggle, upon which all depends. There 
could be no mistake ; the awful ‘ Mouth,’ that was a terror to all 
who knew it, was within a few miles, and the foes close behind 
him— too close to enable him to arrange anything with Old Jake, 
should he be there ; and perhaps there would not even be time to 
cut the boat adrift in the swift current. With a bitter imprecation 
on his folly for delaying by the way, he pressed his knees to his 
saddle, and leaning forward, gave the Star his head. On ! on ! 
and ever faster, on ! until he never dreamt that living creature 
could speed so fast. The river is before him, between that break 
in the sandhills through which it has forced its course. What 
had Grantley told him ? ‘Above all, unbuckle the reins.’ Before 
the thought matures they are torn apart. With a lightning glance 
up the brink of the stream he sees that no boat is there. Thank 
God for that ! Yet what an awful torrent to stem, and at night, 
too ! He can hear the fierce current rushing on, the fall of the 
undermined sand sounding with appalling distinctness in his ears. 
He rides up to the edge of the river, almost hoping yet to find the 
boat, but it is not there. He can hear the loud beating of his 
heart sounding as if it would burst its cell. Irresolute, he nearly 
draws back. Hark 1 the rush of the following steeds along the 
line of surf is heard. Is it to be liberty, or a dungeon once more, 
and probably death ? The Star decides the question by a quick 
plunge from the bank that carries him far into the current. Like 
a flash of thought the man’s courage and coolness returns ; he 
slides from the horse’s back into the water, his right hand grasping 
the mane, and, striking out vigorously with his left hand and both 
feet, he is little impediment to the brave steed. Down, down, far 
down the swift, strong torrent they are swept, until it seems that 
the ocean must swallow them up, so near do those fearful breakers 
appear ; but the horse smites the water with the powerful, regular 
sweep of his great limbs, and ever draws nearer to the opposite 
shore. 

The deadly peril of the mid-current passed, Roland’s earnest 
injunctions came vividly to Darkie’s recollection — 

‘ The moment the horse touches land fling your leg over the 
saddle and your arm round his neck, so that you put no foot on 
land, and cling to him thus, keeping his body between you and the 
pursuers until you are out of sight.’ 


A DEED OF DERRING-DO 


141 

All this he remembers, and resolves to do ; but will they never 
reach the other side ? Yes, almost without noticing it they are 
already there ; the Star’s fore-feet are on the ground, the force of 
the strearn forcing his hind-quarters round on to the bank also, 
and Darkie feels himself in shallow water. Quietly, without a 
sign of flurry, the gallant animal puts forth his strength and 
emerges with a snort of triumph from the water and yielding sand, 
with his rider clinging to his side ; then, breaking into a trot, he 
passes into the shadow of the sandhills and is gone. 

There has been many a brave deed done by the heroes of our 
race by sea and land, ’mid ocean’s storm, or on the field of battle, 
over which we rightfully exult, and which have been honoured by 
the rewards and plaudits of admiring mankind ; but few have 
demanded a higher form of courage than the deed performed by 
the fugitive from justice on that dark night, when he swam the 
Murray Mouth with his horse, the first— the last — the only man 
who ever dared to do so. 

The troopers had galloped up the moment the Star struck out 
from the bank ; they all heard the plunge and saw the rider on his 
back ; then they were both lost to sight in the dark water. In- 
tently they listened to the snorts of the horse as he passed on, ever 
drifting lower and lower down ; surely they will both be swept 
out to sea. Yes, the sounds have ceased, and almost with reproach 
they looked the one at the other. No ; the Star’s loud snort as he 
lands echoes over the river, and^they just distinguish his form, 
reflected for an instant against the wet sand, as he breaks into a 
trot away from the stream. It was only a glimpse, for almost 
immediately he disappeared. 

‘ The man is drowned,’ said one with a shudder. 

‘ That is the end of Darkie, for he certainly was not on the 
horse — that 1 will swear,’ said the second. ‘ I could see the wet 
saddle shining.’ 

‘ And so will I,’ affirmed the third. ‘ No mortal horse could ever 
carry a man over that torrent to-night. He was a good-plucked 
one to attempt it.’ 

‘Which do you mean, comrade, the Star or his rider?’ 

‘ Both,’ was the answer ; ‘ and I wish I had been in my blankets 
instead of chasing that poor devil to his death.’ 

‘ Well, neither you nor I would have tried it, to escape a charge 
of shooting black fellows. We can now only wait for old Jake, 
when we must cross over and follow up the tracks of the horse. 
Perhaps we may find the body of Darkie, though most likely he 
has been carried to sea, and may be washed ashore miles away. 
Now to camp, boys, at the old spot.’ 

The morning’s search resulted in no trace being found of the 
lost man, alive or dead ; but, from the terrific current running, the 
troopers were more convinced than ever that he must have been 
drowned. No horse that was ever foaled, they asseverated again 
and again, could ever carry a rider through such a broad rushing 


142 


PAVING THE WAY 


torrent of water, as Grantley knew right well when he instructed 
Darkie to swim alongside. 

About midday the boatman returned, and then two of the band, 
accompanied by a black fellow who had come with Jake, were 
ferried over with their horses, to run up the tracks of the Star. 
They first made a careful examination of the place where the 
horse had landed for traces of the rider, but neither there nor 
anywhere along the river bank was there the slightest sign. Then 
they took in a wider radius, but without success. 

‘ He has never come out of the river,’ said one. ‘We saw the 
horse had no one on his back, and there are no tracks of a man 
on this side at all.’ 

‘ No white fellow come up, only yarraman ; that one tumble 
down long ribber,’ protested the black tracker, evidently quite 
satisfied of the correctness of his conclusions after the most cursory 
glance, though, in deference to the police, he made a more 
extended search. The tracks of the Star soon led down to the 
beach, but as the tide was high they were there obliterated. No 
doubt remained that he, however, would make for his old run at 
Talkie. At the rocks near the Nob, where he was compelled 
to leave the shore, they came on his tracks again, and had no 
difficulty in following them. Indeed, the horse had gone almost 
straight on to the homestead gate, where he had been found 
shortly after daylight, quietly feeding by the fence. 

Though, as experienced bushmen, they had carefully watched, 
they had been unable to find any trace of a rider. The horse 
occasionally stopped to crop the grass, and once had turned off 
to drink, but there was no track of a man, and surely he would 
have dismounted to drink. ‘It’s all up with Darkie,’ they both 
concluded, although they determined, faithful officers of the law 
as they were, to do their duty to the utmost, and proceeded to 
make inquiries at the Fishery. 

‘ We shall be expected to search the premises,’ said the elder, 
‘and certify that he is not concealed on them.’ 

Mr. Cleeve made no objection, and stated that, to his knowledge, 
no one had arrived at the station during the past night or day ; 
but the whole place was open to inspection. They had better 
satisfy themselves first and then take some refreshment. As this 
was not the whaling season, the place was comparatively deserted, 
only Jack the Harpooner remaining besides the Cleeve family. 
Jack had seen no one, and, like a man accustomed to the procedure, 
he took down a bundle of keys and unlocked the out-buildings for 
the authorities to examine, wearing all the while an air of injured 
innocence. 

‘ I don’t think you have got him here this time, John,’ observed 
the younger trooper. 

‘Or ever shall again,’ said Jack, ‘from what you tell me of his 
trying to swim the Mouth on horseback. I wouldn’t do it for a 
king’s crown or a queen’s either.’ 


A DEED OF DERRING-DO 


143 


‘Nor would I, particularly on such a night, with the ugliest 
current I have ever seen there. Why, the sand kept dropping in 
by tons, and the horse was carried down to the very edge of 
the great breakers before he reached the other side.’ 

‘ it, man, then why do you come to look for him here 

‘ Because,’ was the quiet reply, ‘ until we find him dead, we shall 
continue to look for him living. There is sure to be a big reward 
offered for him, dead or alive, or for information leading to his 
apprehension, but of course that does not interest you.’ 

Jack made no answer, and the men, having finished their 
examination, returned to the Headman’s cottage to enjoy his 
hospitality. 

This they most thoroughly did, like men who had been subjected 
to severe and uncongenial abstinence, at the same time giving an 
account of what had transpired at the Tatiara and during the 
pursuit of Darkie. The meal over, they saddled up and departed 
to the police station on the Point. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

IN HIDING 

After trotting a few hundred yards under the sandhills, clinging 
to the side of the horse, Darkie raised himself into the saddle, and, 
going down on the hard, wet sand, once more rapidly pushed on. 
He had still twenty miles to go, and the night was passing away. 
He felt, too, that having braved so much it would be worse than 
folly to fail now that all the real difficulties seemed over. The 
Star really appeared as fresh as ever after that frightful swim in 
the cold water, the very recollection of which made his rider’s 
flesh creep. Rather than take such another he would stand his 
trial, and — well, yes, would almost prefer to be comfortably 
hanged. 

‘ I am sure there were all sorts of horrible, creeping, slimy 
snakes and things in it ; they got round my feet and neck and on 
my face too, nearly choking me. Ugh ! it was awful, wasn’t it, 
old Star ? Yet you did not seem to mind it, you grandest of all 
grand horses ! In each snort you said as plainly as possible, 
“ Courage 1 we’ll do it yet ” — if I had not been in too great a funk 
to understand you.’ 

Without a pause they sped on till the rocks closed in on the 
sea ; then, mounting to the grass land, the rider drew rein. 
Occasionally, where the grass was good, he allowed the horse to 
feed. His spirits were now so high that he could jest. 

‘ Sorry I cannot relieve you of my weight, old boy ; it does seem 


144 


PAVING THE WAY 


a beastly shame to sit on you, when we stop a bit, after all that 
you have done for me ; but your master’s orders were imperative. 
If I am to be considered drowned in the Mouth, I must not leave 
any tracks here ; the two things would not be compatible. Now, 
I know where to find you some water ; but unless I can reach it 
from your back I must restrain my appetite for the beverage, 
which just now would be as grateful as the nectar of the gods, 
however delicious that mysterious liquor may have been.’ 

He passed well behind the police station. He had been appre- 
hensive that about here he might stumble on a native encampment, 
but fortunately there was none in his way. In due course he came 
to the Inman River. Now for Grantley’s final instructions, he 
thought ; and, pulling up the Star, he dismounted into the water. 
‘Farewell, old horse,’ he said, with a lump in his throat ; ‘if ever 
man had a good steed when riding for his life, I had, and none 
could hope for a better ! ’ Then, slipping the bridle off, he turned 
away and walked down the stream. The Star, as if aware that his 
work was done, stepped on to the bank and trotted off home. 

Feeling as sad as if he had parted from a dear friend, Darkie 
waded down the river to the sea ; then, stepping on briskly in the 
shallow water, soon approached the fishing station. On the way 
he had buried the bridle under the sand in the sea, leaving it to 
be supposed that it had come off the horse’s head, probably 
clutched in the drowning rider’s hands at the Murray Mouth. It 
was nearly over now ; how splendidly Grantley had foreseen each 
danger and guarded against it ! it was utterly impossible that they 
could have seen him land at the Mouth, and there could be no 
sign since. The onlyjtracks are those of the horse ; the staying to 
eat and to drink are just what a riderless animal would do. Then 
leaving him at the usual crossing at the Inman and walking in 
water the whole way to the Fishery — the best tracker that ever 
lived could make nothing of that. 

‘ I will go to Jack’s window and wake him first, afterwards 
judge what is best to be done ; but out on West Island or at 
the back of the Bluff will be safest until we start for Kangaroo 
Island.’ 

With quiet steps he reached the window ; it needed but a tap to 
wake the sleeper ; a whisper, and the fugitive was admitted. Dry 
clothes were given him, a fire kindled, and soon warm food and a 
hot drink of a potent character were placed before him. 

‘ Eat and drink,’ said Jack, ‘ while I get the boat ready and put 
blankets and an old sail in her to keep you warm ; you will need 
them in that cold place. It ’s better, though, now there is plenty 
of oil for the slush lamp. It ’s so big it helps to keep you warm. 
Mind you don’t keep it going in the daytime, or the smoke might 
be seen.’ 

Jack the Harpooner went out for a few moments ; presently he 
returned. 

‘All ready,’ said he; ‘now for the grub part, and as the 


IN HIDING 


145 


“ Bobbies ” are sure to be spying around, and I may not be able 
to get out to you, I will put a supply in this box. Have you got 
all your wet clothes, all right? Now come along, and you can 
tell me all the news as I row out. I am glad you did not wake 
the Headman or Petrel. I ’ll tell them when I get back, but the 
fewer who know the better, that’s my opinion. Fire away, 
Darkie, with your yarn ! ’ 

Jack had got back before daylight, and was busily engaged 
preparing his breakfast when Petrel appeared bright and sparkling 
still, but with a more subdued look than when we first met her. 
He soon let it be seen that he had something to communicate, and 
in a short time she learned the gist of it. 

‘ The police are sure to be here during the day, so I would not 
tell your father,’ he said, ‘ until they have gone. If he knows 
nothing he can have nothing to keep from them, whatever 
they ask.’ 

Petrel had listened with blanched, drawn face. ‘ I won’t tell dad 
yet, and we will talk more soon,’ she said as she turned from him ; 
and he saw her hasten along the rocks to the seat where she and 
Roland so often sat together. Oh, my God ! she thought, how 
dreadful, her lover, her hero, to be arrested and tried for murder. 
The mere crime of shooting blacks she did not, in common with 
many of the old settlers, think so very abhorrent, nothing to com- 
pare with the iniquity of killing white people. What could they 
do but defend themselves when the natives attacked them, stole 
their property, and threatened their lives ? There was nothing 
squeamish about the Australian girl of that period. But to be put 
in gaol, tried, perhaps found guilty, and hanged — her Roland — it 
could not, should not be. Darkie must be got out of the country, 
even if she took him herself in an open boat. It did not matter 
if the craft were swamped and they both went to the bottom, so 
long as not a hair of that beloved head was injured. Of course 
Roiand had only acted in self-defence and been led into it by 
Darkie ; she never liked that man, though he had been so kind 
and respectful in her great distress about her dear old dad. How 
badly, too, her lover had been treated by the blacks ; his friends 
murdered on the Coorong, and himself twice attacked on the 
Murray and now again at the Tatiara. She must go and see 
Darkie to hear all about the matter, not during the day when the 
police might be prowling about, but after dark. She knew the way 
and could go where any goat could ; besides, she would do far 
more than that for Roily, even if his safety were not involved ; he 
would love her all the more dearly for it. 

The Headman had greatly improved in health and spirits though 
still, as he must always be, a mere wreck of his former self. A 
wooden leg, by helping him to take exercise, had had a most 
beneficial effect. He now frequently hobbled about the Fishery 
and down to the landing with its assistance and that of a crutch, 
but this or any active exertion brought on severe chest pains, 

K 


146 


PAVING THE WAY 


showing that the internal injuries were not cured. He sometimes, 
too, assisted in painting and repairing the boats, in which he took 
great pleasure. 

‘ I find I am some use yet. Pet, and may be more by and bye, 
though I don’t expect my leg to grow again like the crabs’ claws 
do, worse luck.’ 

Yet he knew well that his days were numbered, for the doctor 
had looked grave when he last sounded him, and, when asked for 
a candid opinion, admitted there were unfavourable symptoms. 

‘ I must get my girl settled before I go,’ sighed he ; ‘ I have 
little to leave her. When I see Roily again I will speak plainly. 
I am sure he means well ; who could do else to her.^’ 

Petrel kept away when the troopers told him of the chase after 
Darkie, for being concerned with Grantley in shooting blacks. 
‘ I will tell her,’ he thought, ‘ when we are alone ;’ and so it came 
to pass that father and daughter had much the same tale to 
communicate to one another. Directly they left, she sought him, 
and, clinging close to the shrunken chest, explained. 

‘ O dad, this is dreadful,’ she said as she told him all. ‘ I must 
go and see Darkie to-night ; I want to hear about Roily and what 
it all means.’ 

‘Yes, Pet, I cannot go, so you must. It is too dangerous to 
have him here. Auntie shall go with you as far as the Cove and 
wait for you there. She cannot climb the rocks beyond, but if 
any one attempts to follow you she will see them. If the police 
should be watching round here, your going out for a walk together 
will not seem strange.’ 

As soon as it became dusk the two women strolled along the 
saddle towards the Bluff, often stopping apparently to admire the 
beautiful surroundings, but really to make sure that no one was 
following them. Satisfied that they were unobserved, they arrived 
at the cove at dark. Here auntie took her seat on a rock. 

‘ Now, my dear, I shall be quite comfortable, and I am certain 
that nobody can pass me without being seen or heard. If any 
one does come, your father told me to be dreadfully frightened 
and scream horribly. I shall also go into hysterics, so that if the 
intruder is a man with any sense of what is due to a female, and 
not a monster, he will stop to assist me. Unless you are deaf you 
must hear my shrieks and can warn Mr. Darkie ; then you must 
run back as quickly as possible. Now, my child, go on, I don’t 
suppose there will be occasion to scream, but if I do, depend upon 
it some dreadful man has alarmed me.’ 

‘ I won’t be longer than I can help, auntie,’ said the girl cheer- 
fully, and immediately disappeared among the rocks. It was not 
a dark night, as the bright stars lit up the great boulders and the 
white surf seemed to add a reflected clearness to the cliff, so that, 
knowing the way well, she had little real difficulty in progressing. 
Still she was much relieved, though for the moment startled, by 
hearing her name called by the man she came to seek. 


IN HIDING 


147 


* I knew you would come,’ said he, ‘ so came part of the way to 
meet you. Climbing these rocks at night is not pleasant for a 
girl ; are you alone ? ’ 

‘ My aunt is at the cove waiting.’ 

‘ Would you feel more at ease if we talked nearer her?’ 

The delicacy that prompted the question touched her. 

‘No,’ she answered, ‘1 trust you, and may have to trust you 
more.’ 

‘ Thank you ; though by my weakness, folly, and crime, I have 
smirched and disgraced my name, so that I can never bear it 
again, no woman ever suffered by me, or through trusting in me. 
Do not recoil from me ; I am not altogether bad.’ 

Then he told her all ; the conflict with the natives, and subse- 
quent visit of the police to the district, his conversation with 
Grantley, and flight ; the long ride and awful swim over the 
Mouth ; his supposed loss there, and the after-precautions that he 
took up to his arrival at the Fishery. 

She drew away, and, though she did not speak, her eyes dilated 
as he told her of the offered reward for turning Queen’s evidence, 
and his fears that he might be won over. 

‘ What ? ’ she gasped when he ceased, ‘ betray Roland ? you, in 
whom he trusted ? You, who, if he has done wrong, have done 
wrong too.’ 

He cowered before her. ‘ I do not ask you to forgive me ; I 
know that is impossible. Yet listen. It is not given to all men 
to be heroes, I wrecked my life long ago, and threw away as bright 
a future as falls to the lot of any but a few men. Not many years 
since the most wonderful, the most unexpected circumstance again 
threw in my way the chance of wealth and happiness. Later I 
met Roland Grantley and saw he might, without knowing it, help 
me to attain my object, without suffering any injury himself, 
nay, by advancing his interests. To know him was to love 
him.’ 

‘ Yet you would have sacrificed him,’ she interposed indignantly. 

‘ Yet I might have sacrificed him rather than lose both life and 
fortune,’ he muttered with downcast head. ‘ I was always weak 
and, under the sharp questions and cajolery of the men of the long 
robe, would surely prove but as water. It is possible that we 
might both stand our trial and be acquitted, but the jeopardy is 
too great. With me away the case against him at once breaks 
down ; there is absolutely no evidence, and he must be discharged. 
My lot is really the worst ; I am virtually an outlaw, a reward 
being offered to any one who will apprehend me or give such in- 
formation as shall lead to my apprehension. I am giving up for 
years, perhaps for ever, the hope of retrieving my fallen fortunes 
that I told you of. I have nothing more to say. Roland con- 
sidered everything, and, without one word of reproach, arranged 
my escape. Almost his last words were, “ There is one who for my 
sake will save you, if woman can.” The matter is in your hands ; 


148 


PAVING THE WAY 


your father cannot help, and Jack will be suspected and watched. 
Who else is there but you ? ’ 

* I will help you,’ she slowly replied, ‘ but we must wait a day or 
two, till some of the troopers have gone. Do not fear, even if a 
search should be made, they will not find you here, and there is 
always a boat moored in the Cove, in which, if pressed, you can go 
over to West Island. If she has gone, we will know where to look 
for you. Now good-night, and expect to hear from me soon.’ 

‘ She is a brick,’ said Darkie, ‘ and in a couple of days she will 
have all ready to take me over to Kangaroo Island and safety. 
It’s not a very cheerful abode this, but I ’ve had worse. It ’s hard 
lines, though, that none of the niggers I potted was that scoundrel 
with the brass box, or I might have had the treasure away before 
the d — d police got down into the district. Roland would have 
helped me off just the same, if I had asked him. Now I can’t 
help thinking my chance of ever getting it is a very remote one. 
Somebody else may shoot the savage or get the box somehow. 
Of course they would not know what the paper meant, but they ’d 
surely put it beyond my reach. Well, I only hope the ruffian may 
die in his aboriginal bed, unless I kill him ; and then his sorrowing 
people will bury his possessions, brass box included, with him ; 
and by rifling his tomb I may still attain the summit of my am- 
bition. 1 ’ll hope on, in spite of all ; I ’m good at that anyway.’ 


CHAPTER XXV 

THE PURSUERS BAFFLED 

Petrel sadly retraced her steps, once sitting down on a rock with 
the great waves dashing at her feet, to think over what that man 
had told her. Why could he not have been true to Roland ? 
Surely, if both kept silence, there could be no more danger to the 
two than to the one ; yet it was evident that her lover had weighed 
all the circumstances and decided on the flight of Darkie. She 
almost wondered that in the first moment of his indignation, he 
had not shot the traitor down, but then her hero was always 
calmest in moments of emergency. He, no doubt, recognised that 
more evidence might be obtainable against Darkie than against 
himself, — evidence that, if they stood their trial together, would 
prejudice him, but that would not be admissible were he alone. 

It seemed that Darkie had been in communication not only with 
the white shepherds and others, but with the blacks, thus probably 
giving the clew on which the police had acted ; she never doubted 
her lover’s motives, and it was for her to justify the trust she was 
so proud to hear he placed in her. She would tell her dear old 


THE PURSUERS BAFFLED 


149 


dad all, and get his consent to her taking the fugitive over to 
Kangaroo Island. There would then be no one who could peach. 
Of course Jack had helped him the first night, but he was true as 
steel and devoted to her father ! Still, the less he or any one 
knew of what concerned the life and honour of her Roland, the 
better. She understood a boat thoroughly, and Darkie’s assistance 
was available going over ; as for the return trip, the wind at that 
time of year was nearly always favourable, and the run would not 
occupy more than four or five hours. In the event of unexpected 
difficulties the old whaler could accompany her part, or, if neces- 
sary, the whole of the way in his boat. It was an undertaking 
that, under ordinary circumstances, the young girl would have 
shrunk from, but then these were not ordinary circumstances. 
That she was acting the part of a heroine never entered her com- 
prehension ; yet that which she proposed was a deed from which 
many a bold heart might well shrink. O true heart of woman ! 
when does it think any task too hard to save the object of her 
love ? 

Auntie was still sitting with the most entire patience, precisely 
where she was left. 

‘There has been no occasion to call upon my reserve stock of 
hysterics,’ she said, ‘ perhaps fortunately so, on every account, for 
it must be confessed that I am considerably out of practice. In 
fact, only the hour, this wild scene, and the sudden apparition of 
a man, could possibly at my time of life and after my experiences, 
justify anything so essentially fine-ladyish.’ 

‘ O auntie, you are quite funny to-night ! ’ laughed the girl, 
almost forgetting the tale she had heard, at this novel aspect of 
her almost taciturn relative’s character. 

‘ It is the peculiar surroundings, child. We might be engaged 
in the landing of contraband goods, cheating the customs, in fact, 
which all of our sex think a very laudable proceeding, or assisting 
some poor fellow to evade the clutches of the law, which is more 
proper still in some cases, instead of merely being out to enjoy a 
breath of fresh air. Well, here we are at home again, and there 
is dad at the door, no doubt very cross, because we have prolonged 
our usual stroll beyond the ordinary limits. Sit down, my dear, 
on the bench outside, anid tell him all, while I go in and take off 
my things ! ’ 

Glad to be alone with her father. Petrel sat down and poured 
out the tale, and her troubles with it. 

‘ O dad, I must take him away, and soon. There is nothing 
else to be done ; you will let me, won’t you ? It is for Roily’s 
sake ! ’ 

‘ I know. Pet, and there is indeed no one else we can trust. 
Jack has been ordered to accompany the police in a search for 
Salter, who left here for Adelaide. It appears he got delirium 
tremens and is lost in the scrub about Mount Jagged. Jack says 
they start in the morning.’ 


150 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ Then, we might go to-morrow night, dad.’ 

‘ If the weather holds up. Pet ; but it looks like blowing from 
the west, and that won’t do. I will tell Jack to take the boat out 
again to the cove first thing in the morning, and moor her there, 
so as to be handy.’ 

In the afternoon of the following day the harpooner left with the 
police, on the quest after the missing man in the Willunga Scrub. 
The glass of the Headman enabled him to observe the party leave 
the station on the Point. 

‘ There they go, every man of them,’ he said, ‘ but some may 
come back. I ’ll keep a look-out up to dark.’ 

‘ I ’ll start then, dad, if nothing happens in the meantime. 
Auntie will come to see me off, and if lucky, I shall be back 
to-morrow night almost before your bedtime.’ 

‘ I am afraid of the weather. Pet — don’t you think you had better 
wait till it settles ?’ 

‘ No, dad, let me go and get it over. I shall always be in terror 
for Roily while that man is here. I think all sorts of things — 
that perhaps the whaling vessel will have left the island before we 
reach it. I must go, dad.’ 

The Headman looked grave, as he glanced towards the west, 
where a black cloud hung over the setting sun. 

‘ I don’t think it will be much, but your boat is not a big one to 
face a sea if you have to tack against a head wind ; you must turn 
back, if it does blow up, promise me that.’ 

‘ All right, dad ! so that it is settled.’ 

When night had fairly set in. Petrel and her aunt started, the 
former well wrapped up for the cold sail before her. At the point 
of the Bluff she went for Darkie. As before, she soon met him, 
and found that he was eager to be away. The boat was imme- 
diately drawn up to the beach for the girl to enter. 

‘Good-bye, auntie, I hope to be home to-morrow some time !’ 

* I must pull out a little to get the wind,’ said Darkie, ‘ then we 
will put up the sail. Farewell, Mrs. Cleeve, I shall never forget 
all that you have done for me, and what your niece is doing 
to-night.’ 

The old woman could not speak, but she waved her hand as 
long as they could be seen. Outside the shelter of the headland 
the wind blew fresh, and as soon as the sail was set the boat 
danced merrily over the waves. 

‘I will steer for a while,’ said Petrel, ‘and then you can take 
the tiller. The breeze is beautiful, and if it continues we shall be 
there in a few hours.’ 

‘I hope so,’ replied Darkie, ‘but I don’t like the appearances of 
the weather. This is a land wind, and will die aw’ay before we 
proceed very far.’ 

‘ Dad said it might blow hard from the west, and then we were 
to turn back.’ 

‘That would be on every account a great pity, but I am entirely 


THE PURSUERS BAFFLED 


- 151 

under your orders,’ he replied, ‘I owe far too much- to you and 
yours to incur any more risk than is absolutely necessary. 

‘It is not for you,’ she said coldly, ‘that I am here.’ 

‘ I beg your pardon ! ’ and he sank into silence. 

Round West Island they ran on, till fairly within sight of the 
grand cliffs beyond Porpoise Head, the wind still holding and the 
boat making good progress. Then it began to drop, occasionally 
rising and propelling them through the water at a rapid rate. 
Presently it would fall to a calm, and the sails would flap idly. 
So, with fitful puffs, it rose and fell in a tantalising way for perhaps 
half-an-hour, then ceased altogether. 

Darkie now spoke. 

‘ It will blow hard against us directly. We must turn back. 
To be safer, I will take a reef in the main sail.’ 

As she seemed to object by her silence, he added — 

‘ It is what your father directed should be done.’ 

‘Take the rudder,’ she answered, ‘I cannot steer back,— it 
seems like doing a wicked thing.’ 

She was thinking that the police might be waiting for him at 
the cove when they landed. He seemed to divine her thought. 

‘ I will stay on West Island, if you can manage the boat to the 
cove.’ 

^ ‘Thank you, — I can do that easily, I have moored her many 
times, and directly the wind goes round I will come for you ; to- 
morrow night, if possible ! ’ 

The west wind was now fast driving them back, and she again 
took the tiller while he prepared what he would require on the 
island. She had quite recovered her cheerfulness. 

‘ You won’t mind being left, will you ? I could not stop, you 
know ; the beat might be seen from the land.’ 

‘ Of course, you cannot, and I would rather be there than behind 
the bluff. It’s a great deal safer, which to a man in my position 
counts for something. Still, if I thought there was any doubt 
about your being able to manage the boat I would go on, even 
against your will.’ 

‘ But I have none,’ she quickly answered, ‘ my father has often 
said that I can manage a boat as well as he can, and after my 
sailing about with him every summer when the whaling is over he 
ought to know.’ 

They were now near the landing-place under the shelter of the 
island. It was simply a little indentation in the pile of rocks 
where the water was somewhat calmer. With skilful hand the 
girl steered close to a flat rock, and as. the boat passed on a swell, 
Darkie sprang on to it. When he turned to look. Petrel was out 
in the open sea, speeding directly round the bluff. He lifted the 
bundle he had cast before him, and climbed up the rocks, and 
then followed with his eyes the white sail until it disappeared 
beyond the headland. 

‘ There never was a girl like her,— good and beautiful, with the 


152 


PAVING THE WAY 


spirit of a heroine. I wonder if I ever, from my cradle upwards, 
have for one single instant been worthy of her. As for Roland, 
does he realise what a prize is within his grasp ? Not he, or, if 
he does, his infernal pride of name and race will likely enough 
prevent his ever plucking it. It is easy to see that his old aunt 
is working on that failing to separate them. If she once gets hold 
of how the father left England, then, Petrel, you will surely find 
that your idol has feet of clay, like the rest of us. It won’t matter 
that through your aid he has escaped by the skin of his teeth from 
conviction of a crime, compared with which that of your father 
was as a feathePs-weight to yon mount. Fool that I am, in no 
case could she ever be mine.’ 

Without a tremor in her brave little heart, the girl steered 
straight on under the shadow of the great bluff, the surf beating 
loudly against its everlasting base and tossing its white feathers 
high up the glistening rocks. The wind was strong, though 
steady, and the sea was rising to a storm, as she swept round into 
the shelter of the cove. Here there was no difficulty in managing 
the boat. She steered close up to the shears before taking down 
the sail. Auntie was on the shore, evidently on the watch, and in 
a few minutes she had the boat moored, and was with her. 

‘ I left him on the island. We thought it best, and he wished 
to stop. It blew too hard for us to go on, though I could have 
cried at turning back.’ 

‘ It ’s nearly a storm outside now. Come home, dear, and have 
some nice supper and a good sleep, and forget all about the 
botheration men,’ said the matter-of-fact widow, ‘ that ’s the best 
thing to do.’ 

Brave little Petrel was glad to be petted and made much of by 
both father and aunt. The Headman was proud to hear how well 
she had managed the boat. He also thought leaving Darkie on 
West Island a wise step. 

‘ It ’s a nasty landing. Pet, in rough weather, and I would not 
have cared about it myself a dirty night like this.’ 

‘We were back there, dad, before the sea had risen much, and 
Darkie acted splendidly ; he had everything ready, and, as the 
boat came up to the landing-rock, he jumped on it, and sent her 
flying out to sea again.’ 

‘ He is a good hand in a boat, and so is my Pet,’ said the 
father, fondly stroking her luxuriant hair as she nestled up to 
him. 

The next day the storm had passed off, and the wind gradually 
died away, though there was a considerable sea still on. 

‘There is sure to be a fair wind to-night,’ said Mr. Cleeve, ‘ and 
the sea will go down. This time you must have fine weather, if I 
know anything about it. There is a trooper patrolling about, 
though ; he has been along the Waitpinga Road and came back by 
Porpoise Head and the Bluff. He will be here directly. I hope 
Darkie is lying close on the Island or he might be seen. It will 


THE PURSUERS BAFFLED 


153 


be well to get him away. I begin to think these fellows suspect 
something.’ 

The policeman now rode up to the cottage, and, dismounting, 
sat down for a chat with the Headman. 

‘No news of Salter?’ asked the latter, after some desultory 
conversation. 

‘ No,’ was the reply. ‘ I came back last night, and left them 
on his tracks near Mount Jagged ; but it is very hard to follow 
them. He had thrown off all his clothes, as we found them 
scattered along his trail. It’s doubtful if he is alive by this time, 
and maybe we shall not find him at all in that thick scrub. Do 
you believe in ghosts?’ suddenly asked he. 

‘ In the daytime I don’t,’ said the Headman ; ‘ but at night, 
particularly about midnight, and when I am near a churchyard, 
I do.’ 

‘ Well, we tracked Salter during the day close past a big stone 
lying by the pad on Mount Jagged, and by the footmarks we 
could see that he had sat down on it. Somehow we got a bit 
solemn while there, perhaps because there were drops of blood 
on it. My mate, Birt, said it looked as if the poor devil had tried 
to kill himself while sitting there. Well, when I left them to 
come back home it was dark before I got to the place, and there, 
as sure as I am alive, was something white sitting on that stone. 
My horse was that frightened he nearly threw me, and I was just 
as much scared, and made through the bushes with my heart in my 
mouth round into the track again as hard as I could. It was his 
ghost, and that man will never be found alive. I ’ve got to join 
the party out there this evening with some grub, but nothing will 
induce me to go by that stone. Good-bye I ’ 

‘ Good job he let out that he will be away to-night. He can’t 
be here if he has to go out there,’ soliloquised the Headman. 
‘ They will all most likely be away to-morrow, giving time for Pet 
to be back with the boat without being missed. As to the ghost, 
he has got more than a bit of a scare. Maybe poor Salter is 
hovering about there dead or alive.’ 

As the evening set in the sea had subsided greatly and the 
wind was fair. 

‘ Could not be better. Pet ; the worst part will be picking up 
Darkie, as there is sure to be a heavy swell on out there, but 
it ’s clear starlight.’ 

‘ I can manage it all well enough, dad. I will have the sail up 
before letting go from the shears, and with this wind there won’t 
be much difficulty, and with him there to help it will be easy,’ 
added the girl, as if that settled the question. 

After supper, to which auntie took care that her niece did full 
justice, preparations were made for a start. All were in excellent 
spirits ; everything favoured the trip, and these people never 
allowed the reflection that they were breaking the laws of their 
adopted country to trouble them in the slightest degree. Giving 


154 


PAVING THE WAY 


a long parting hug to her dear old dad, Petrel, again accompanied 
by auntie, took her departure. Unmooring the boat and raising 
the sail occupied a considerable time after they reached the cove ; 
but, that done, the girl cast off from the stage, and the boat stood 
out to sea round the Bluff, auntie looking admiringly on at her 
niece’s deft movements. The night was clear, with a beautiful 
fresh breeze, and the boat appeared to skim over the water like a 
huge white bird. This time there were no clouds rising ahead to 
depress her spirits, and Petrel felt confident that in a few hours 
the man whose presence was a continual menace to her lover’s 
life would be beyond pursuit. And her Roland would, if possible, 
love her the more for the dangers she was daring for his sake, 
though they were nothing compared with what she would do if 
occasion required. 

Now the boat shot up to the flat rock where Darkie stood wait- 
ing. He had been on the watch at the point of the island to 
make certain that it was she, the sight of the trooper on the 
mainland in the morning having made him apprehensive that 
the boat might contain police. He at once sprang in, and as 
they flew on their course he told Petrel what he had feared, 
though it was impossible that he could have been seen, as he 
had never left the safe cover among the rocks. 

Relieved to hear this. Petrel gaily chatted or listened to his 
tales of past adventures with her lover. Then they grew silent, 
and while he steered she gave herself up to her thoughts. Sweet 
they must have been and soothing to the whaler’s daughter, for 
she dropped into a deep sleep and dreamt that Roily had returned 
to say that all this dreadful tale of murder and imprisonment was 
a lie, that he had spared the natives who had sought to take his 
life, and was applauded by the whole colony as the greatest of its 
heroes. As he left the court he had been cheered loudly. Hark ! 
she could hear them still ! Then her name was called, and there 
was a sound of waves beating on the rocks. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

KANGAROO ISLAND 

‘Kangaroo Island is close by, and daylight is breaking,* said 
Darkie. ‘As I don’t know where old Kark’s hut is, I was obliged 
to wake you.’ 

‘ Keep on inside the island ; it is a few miles yet. What a sleep 
I have had ! ’ 

‘ I am glad of it, for to-night you have the same trip to do alone. 
Won’t you be afraid 

‘Not I. I shall be thinking all the way that it will soon be 


KANGAROO ISLAND 


155 


over — and/ she added in a lower tone, ‘ Roland safe. And you, 
you won’t come back?’ in an entreating voice. 

‘Never, I swear,’ he replied, ‘until Roland Grantley’s life is as 
safe as yours from that charge.’ 

She looked searchingly in his face and saw that he meant to be 
true. With touching simplicity she answered — 

‘ I believe you.’ 

A small bay now opened out, with a hut on the bank and a boat 
on the shore. They had arrived, and as they drew up to a little 
landing-stage a weather-beaten man of about sixty years of age 
stepped down to meet them. Darkie sprang on shore and spoke 
with him for some minutes, and then returned to Petrel. 

‘ There is an American whaler lying in a cove a little further 
along, and as she is in want of hands they will take me willingly 
enough without asking questions. Kark says she sails to-morrow, 
and advises my going with him to join her this evening.’ 

‘Go, by all means,’ said she. ‘The same wind that brought us 
here will serve to take me back.’ 

‘Yes ; but there is no occasion for me to go until after you have 
started, and that ought not to be for some hours yet, or you will 
arrive before dark. You will allow me to see you safely away 
from here.’ 

Petrel spent most of the day picking wild-flowers among the 
bushes that covered that portion of the island, and gathering shells 
on the beach. She had been there before with her father, and 
had often seen old Kark at the Fishery. He was one of the oldest 
inhabitants ; there were, in fact, none who had been longer on the 
island and coast, and perhaps only one or two who had been as 
long. That he was one of Van Diemen’s Land’s choicest im- 
portations no one doubted, but Mr. Kark never discussed his 
antecedents with anybody. He never even uttered a word as 
to his life on Kangaroo Island, unless, indeed, his tongue was 
well loosened by that potent lubricator — grog. To a congenial 
companion, who passed the bottle with hospitable rapidity and 
evinced a lively sympathy with the villainies over which the old 
ruffian loved to gloat, he sometimes relaxed his customary reserve. 
How he came there was not known, or, if known at all, only to 
those of the guild who not merely kept their secrets rigidly among 
themselves, but rarely confided unnecessarily in each other. 

Once that subtle agent which unlocks the inner cabinet of so 
many men’s minds had been used to melt the surly taciturnity in 
which he wrapped himself. There had been hints of the abduc- 
tion of native women from the mainland in the earlier days ; and 
as one or two white men had black women living with them when 
the South Australian Company formed a settlement on the island, 
more than a colour was lent to these rumours. Old Kark was one 
of the possessors of this kind of property, and on the occasion 
alluded to he divulged the atrocious manner in which the un- 
fortunate women were kidnapped. 


PAVING THE WAY 


156 

It appears that there were three men living together on the 
island, and subsisting principally upon fish ; when out in their 
boat they often saw blacks on the mainland, and after a while a 
sort of friendly relation was established, fish being exchanged for 
kangaroos, opossums, or other animal food. It was not long 
before they also coveted the charms of the aboriginal women, 
though they were too much afraid to offer any direct allurements. 
At last it was determined to abduct three on the first favourable 
opportunity. ‘ It has been said that “ God helps those who help 
themselves,” ’ observed the narrator when relating this story ; ‘ but 
my experience shows that the Devil does fully as much for his 
votaries.^ One day they caught a great haul of schnapper near 
Rapid Bay, and, observing an encampment of blacks, decided to 
carry out their project without delay. They accordingly approached 
the shore holding up the fish to attract attention. Seeing this, the 
aborigines came running down to the water’s edge. The Devil 
certainly had favoured them, for the men were nearly all away 
hunting. Now was the chance ; they paddled close in, sprang 
out, and exclaiming ‘ This is mine,’ each caught hold of a woman, 
tossed her into the boat, and were away before a weapon could be 
thrown or an attempt made to prevent them. The few black 
men who were there had not brought their arms from the camp, 
presumably believing that the visit was for the ordinaiy exchange 
of commodities. The white men were well aware that the natives 
had no means of following them over to the island, and in the 
assurance that they were quite safe from pursuit they rejoiced 
greatly at the success of their treachery. The women were taken 
to their camp, but that very night ran away. A chase ensued, and 
the three were overtaken on a promontory running into the sea, 
opposite their country ; two were captured, but the other boldly 
took to the water, straight across the nine-mile passage. Some 
say she succeeded in her heroic attempt, but died from exhaustion 
immediately after reaching the land. 

There were now three men to two women, and the two ruffians 
considered that the odd ruffian who had lost his prize had no claim 
on theirs. The abstract question of right and wrong did not affect 
such men to any great extent. To have was to hold, if possible ; 
but, on the other hand, not to have was to take if possible. 
Among men actuated by such ethics, quarrels were sure to arise ; 
a fight followed, and the lonely villain, half killed, had to betake 
himself to another part of the island. Or was he murdered out- 
right ? 

The other two, once firm friends, became deadly enemies and 
separated. It would seem, therefore, judging from its apparent 
results, that the deed of violence did not quite answer their expec- 
tations ; but then this only proves that too much had been expected. 
That any one of the three died in his bed conclusively proves his 
Satanic majesty did not desert them to the last. 

Petrel was glad when the declining sun indicated that she might 


KANGAROO ISLAND 


157 


start on the return voyage. She felt an instinctive antipathy for 
the old mysterious villain ; the very manner of life he led, away 
from all men, year after year, stamped him as one to be distrusted, 
if not feared. 

Darkie hoisted the sails, and, taking Kark’s boat, accompanied 
her a few miles, almost without uttering a word. Then holding 
her hand, he said — 

‘ I do not attempt to thank you, and for me to say “ God bless 
you ” would be a mockery ; but wherever I go, to my dying day, I 
shall think of you as the best of women.’ 

He had uttered the words in a broken voice, and then, with all 
the reverence of a deep respect, he kissed her hand, and stepped 
into his boat. She lowered her face, and the boat sped away fast 
before the favouring breeze. When she looked back, he still stood 
gazing after her, like some impenitent son of man in ancient days, 
when beneficent angels were permitted to descend from heaven to 
warn the sinful and obdurate to forsake their evil ways, after the 
divine messenger to whom he had refused to listen had left him 
to his fate. 

Almost sorrowfully Petrel steered on ; she could not think of his 
affecting words without emotion ; he had been so kind and respect- 
ful in the peculiar position in which they were placed. No brother 
could have been more careful of her, no one more anxious not to 
wound her sensibilities ; for all this she felt grateful. Then came 
the consciousness that in his absence lay Roland’s safety, and a 
great gladness came over her that he was gone, and that she had 
only to reach home without exciting the suspicions of those many- 
eyed policemen. Of course, if they saw her return they would 
suspect something, and probably would guess what had actually 
occurred. Was not this wind wafting her along too fast? She 
feared now that she might arrive before darkness fell to hide her 
approach ; yet the sun was near the horizon, so she checked her 
first impulse to strike the sail, and steered on. 

Down went the sun, and already everything began to look 
obscure ; the bold coast-line even became so indistinct that she 
shaped her course nearer to it. It was so lonely, too, out by her- 
self on the wide sea ; perhaps nearer the cliffs she might feel it 
less. Was that a shark following? Yes, right in the wake of the 
boat. Had she not heard tales of these terrible creatures tracking 
doomed ships until the end came ? 

‘ Stuff and nonsense,’ said she, nerving her bra^e little heart ; 
* I have seen them dozens of times swim miles after the whale- 
boats and nothing happen.’ 

She would not look round for a long while, and when she did 
the monster was gone. He evidently saw that Petrel was not for 
him, so did not waste time coveting her dainty little person. 

By this time it was as dark as it could be with such a clear sky 
and all those bright stars shining. A moment ago she could count 
them, and now there were thousands. There was Porpoise Head 


PAVING THE WAY 


158 

looming up dark and high. As she passed under into its shadow 
it seemed to shut out half the heavens and their glorious lights. 
West Island was now near, and with this calm sea there will be 
no break on the reef, so she steers inside it. There stands the 
grand old Bluff, never more welcome than now, after the pro- 
tracted strain of her hard task. Close under those huge rocks 
where gleamed that swirl of white water it was that the fight with 
the whales had taken place, in which that dearest of dear old dads 
had been nearly killed. She could see, plainly defined against 
the starlit sky, the granite boulder from which she witnessed the 
struggle and catastrophe. Just round the corner, perched up on a 
rock, stood ‘ The Cave,’ a hollow boulder wonderfully carved out 
by nature’s slow hand in the course of countless ages. She dis- 
tinguished ‘ The Coward’s Hole,’ where the timid crawl in rather 
than walk round on the dangerous narrow ledge which overhangs 
the sheer precipice down to where the ocean roars in its wildest 
hundreds of feet below. Somewhat further on is the cavity where 
fugitives wanted by the police had often been secreted, and where 
she had been to meet Darkie on the night when he told her of her 
lover’s peril. Wright’s Island was now in full view. On swept the 
boat ; there is the cove, and there ‘ the shears.’ With skilful hand 
the craft is brought-to alongside, a line made fast, sails taken 
down and folded away with all the care of a seaman. Now for 
the shore and home. As she passed quickly on, there stood 
auntie, who took her in her arms for very joy at seeing her back 
again. 

So all was well — the man safely on board the Yankee whaler. 
Bravo ! dad would be so glad to hear it. He had never rested 
since she left. Here was the cottage. 

‘Dad, dear dad!’ and ‘Pet, dear Pet I’ Was there ever a 
happier meeting? Or was there ever such a girl? Certainly 
never, in the opinion of the maimed Colossus. He made her tell 
him everything, particularly of the trip back, his face showing each 
emotion of wonder and pride. 

‘Now that you have had a nice warm supper, go to bed. Pet, 
and don’t get up until you have made up for lost time.’ 

As for him, hour after hour he sat there. Surely, hearing of 
this priceless service, Roland would value her as she deserved, 
would cast to the winds all considerations of race and position, 
and take her as his wife in the sight of all men. He had thought 
of all this when he had let her go with Darkie; had, indeed, 
almost been glad that the necessity had arisen. Not that he 
desired to pile obligations upon Grantley, but such devotion must 
produce greater admiration and love for his child. It was not 
possible now that the boy he had loved since he saved him at the 
Mouth could hesitate to claim her as his bride, in defiance of kith 
and kin. Yet he felt that Miss Grantley was in some way work- 
ing against the happiness of his daughter. Was it by raking up 
the unjust stigma cast on his youth, for which his manhood had 


KANGAROO ISLAND 


159 


suffered and must suffer to the end, since for him to reverse that 
cruel sentence was utterly hopeless ? What availed it that he was 
innocent of the act for which an inexorable law refused to accept 
as sufficient the atonement of a blameless life ? And if he had 
committed that deed, before the God in whose presence he was so 
soon to appear, and to whom he appealed, he believed it to be no 
crime. But what would all this avail, if that woman became 
acquainted with his sentence and its expiation in Van Diemen’s 
Land before Roland married Petrel.? Nothing. Roland’s pride 
of race would be worked upon — a pride that Petrel’s father knew 
was deeply inbred ; and, though Roland might suffer, he would 
not rise superior to it, and Petrel’s happiness would be wrecked. 
If they were once married, Miss Grantley must accept the situa- 
tion ; her intense regard for the honour of the family would shut 
her mouth. He must act, then, as soon as Roland got out of the 
trouble in which he was involved, as he was sure to do, now that 
Darkie had escaped from the country. Doubtless he would 
hasten from Adelaide to thank the girl he loved for all he owed 
her ; then everything might be settled, and Petrel made happy. 
Comforted by these last reflections, the big man retired to rest. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

FACILIS DESCENSUS AVERNI 

Enfield had now almost quite recovered from his wound under the 
efficient nursing at Talkie, but found it difficult to tear himself 
away from the fascinations of Miss Maria. It is ever thus when 
the wounded male is thrown defenceless into the hands of the 
female beguiler. It is so pleasant to be waited on, and have every 
wish anticipated with such ready sympathy : and to watch the 
womanly ways, and wonder what some men have done that they 
should possess these blessings in permanence while you, a poor 
devil of a bachelor, have to shift for yourself. It’s all up with 
you when it comes to this. There may be a little fencing, an 
apparent coldness on the part of the charmer, but she has got 
your neck in the matrimonial noose, from which you can’t extricate 
yourself, if you struggle ever so hard — and that you will not do. 
It looks so pleasant — as, indeed, it is for the time being, and 
possibly may be for all the time that you twain shall be one flesh. 
We won’t pry too closely into the heart of Miss Maria ; perhaps 
she never thought of the disabled hero as a lover until he actually 
asked the important question and she whispered in response, 
‘ You must ask my aunt.’ Not quite the answer the ardour of her 
admirer desired. A passionate lover has been known to be so 


i6o 


PAVING THE WAY 


carried away by his feelings as to hastily ejaculate, ‘The devil 
take your aunt ! What do fou say ?’ 

Of course, an outburst like this would be highly improper in 
good society, but it is not unreasonable to suppose that the average 
damsel would scarcely consider it an unpardonable sin. James 
Enfield was not naturally impulsive, and on this occasion, being 
discreet, he simply marched the maiden into the presence of Miss 
Grantley, who was opportunely near, and put the matter thus : — 

‘ Miss Grantley, I Ve asked your niece to be my wife, and she 
refers me to you ; please give us your blessing,’ which that lady 
did there and then. Subsequently, no doubt, he had a more 
satisfactory interview with his fiande. 

Under these happy circumstances, complete convalescence 
could not be expected, since that would entail the swain’s depar- 
ture. He was, however, in quite robust enough health to take 
long walks and rides with the chosen one. ... It was at this 
juncture that the Star was found at the gate with his saddle on. 
There was some comfort in the fact that it was not the one which 
Roland was accustomed to use, but until the arrival of the police 
the household was in a state of considerable alarm. Enfield was 
then informed of the arrest of Grantley and the escape and pursuit 
of Darkie as far as the Murray Mouth, where all trace of him 
ceased. 

‘You may be sure we know nothing of him, and I don’t believe 
he got beyond the river; the saddle gives every indication of 
having been carried a long distance by a loose horse. It ’s sodden 
with water and covered with dirt ; then there was no bridle, and 
as you did not find it on the tracks, and there were no marks of the 
reins trailing on the ground ; it must have come off in the river, 
which seems to prove that the rider was drowned there.’ 

‘ I don’t doubt it,’ replied the officer. ‘ Still, it is our duty to 
search all likely places where he may be concealed.’ 

A few days later the lover tore himself away and proceeded to 
Adelaide to meet Grantley, for the purpose of assisting him in any 
way that an old friend, soon to become a brother, could. It is 
not necessary for this narrative to enter into the particulars of 
Grantley’s examination. Immediately on his arrival he was 
brought before the court and remanded for further evidence ; 
subsequently being committed for trial, but released on bail. The 
sessions were to be held within a few weeks, and he persistently 
refused to return home until the case was disposed of. Enfield 
saw a great difference in him since this trouble had come. He 
was more silent than ever, and the old flashes of impatience 
marked his conduct more frequently. Of the crime with which 
he was charged he scarcely spoke, and he evidently never 
regarded it as an offence. When he did on occasion refer to it 
in a general way in discussing the native difficulty and the losses 
the squatters sustained from it — 

‘ A great deal of the country is good,’ he would say, ‘ and we 


FACILIS DESCENSUS AVERNI 


i6i 


shall do well ultimately if we can surmount the black trouble, 
either by being let alone or by the Government protecting us ; I 
daresay this is only a spasmodic access of humanity on the part 
of the authorities. When it has worn off, the squatters may do 
what is right in their own eyes for two or three years, which will 
be, from what I have seen, sufficiently long to settle the matter. 
I ’m not justifying it, but I can’t see how under our system of 
colonisation it is to be avoided.’ 

When the sessions opened, the first case called was that against 
the Lawns. The evidence was strong, and many thought a 
conviction certain j but the jury could not agree, and ultimately 
brought in a verdict of ‘ Not guilty.’ The charge against Grantley 
was not proceeded with, the Crown prosecutor considering it 
useless to press it in the absence of an important witness. 

‘ Any one might have known this would be the result ; but the 
officials want to give you gentlemen a lesson,’ said Grantley’s 
legal adviser, * and, above all, to show that they do something in 
the interests of the aborigines. Briefly, it means this : whatever 
you do, don’t be such fools in the future as to let it get known.’ 

Angry and soured by the ordeal through which he had passed, 
Roland, accompanied by Enfield, started for Encounter Bay. 
Though at the time glad that the case against him had broken 
down, or rather had been abandoned, he could not but feel that 
it would have been better if it had come to trial and he had 
been acquitted, as must have been the case. As the matter stood, he 
was practically at the mercy of Darkie, who might be apprehended 
or might voluntarily surrender himself any day — of course providing 
for his own safety beforehand. Still, if Darkie were once safely 
away, there would be little cause for uneasiness. Among his 
fraternity a broad line of distinction was drawn between giving up 
a comrade to save your own neck, and coming back for the purpose 
of doing it for a reward. The latter was a baseness unknown 
among them. As yet he knew nothing more of Darkie than 
Enfield could tell him ; but he had little doubt of his arrival at the 
Fishery, and supposed that news of his whereabouts would be 
forthcoming there. He did not believe in the story of his drown- 
ing in the Mouth ; for if he only kept his head, he felt confident 
the Star would take him over. Most likely the fugitive was still 
hidden somewhere on the coast, and the dangerous task of 
getting him away remained to be carried out. This reflection 
made the young man grow more gloomy as they drew near to 
the Bay. 

He was getting tired of the whole thing. Encounter Bay and 
the Tatiara as well ; and felt inclined to sell out of both, parti- 
cularly the latter, and go far away up the Darling or to one of the 
other outlying parts of New South Wales, where there was good 
tenure to be had, and none of the persecution of the squatters that 
seemed periodical here. Petrel would go with him to the ends of 
the earth as his wife, or even without his committing himself so 

L 


PAVING THE WAY 


162 

far, if he took the old people with them in some capacity, so much 
did she love him. Then later she might be his without his narne 
being tarnished by marriage with a convict’s daughter, or his 
prospects of inheriting the old title and estate affected. Did he 
blush as these incipient thoughts floated through his mind ? He 
had got beyond that already ! 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

AUNT ARABELLA PLAYS HER TRUMP CARD 

Sir Archibald Grantley of Grantley Hall to Miss Grantley, 
Encounter Bay, South Australia : 

‘Dear Sister, — I was greatly pleased to learn on receipt of your 
letter that my nephew Roland is so fine a young fellow, and quite free 
from any ridiculous love entanglement. As this is the case, you are quite 
at liberty to inform him of my intentions regarding himself. As both he 
and my daughter are very young, I do not urge his return to England at 
present, particularly as he is advancing his own fortunes so well in 
Australia. Perhaps in two or three years he will be more likely than 
now to commend himself to an impressionable girl. I shall give the 
necessary instructions respecting the drawing up of my will, appointing 
him successor to my son, with the proviso that he either marries my 
child Elinor or some other lady of good lineage previous to inheriting 
the estate, or within a reasonable time thereafter. I confidently rely upon 
you to acquaint me with the fact if he ever becomes engaged or married 
to any woman not fulfilling the above conditions, as I must then look 
elsewhere for an heir to our time-honoured name and estate. — Your 
loving brother, Archibald Grantley.* 

‘Hem! hem! Yesl’ said Miss Grantley; ‘I must take an 
early opportunity of acquainting Roland with the splendid pro- 
spects his uncle’s letter unfolds to him, before he sees that young 
person ; as, after so long an absence, one can never tell what 
absurdity a young man may be guilty of. Heir to one of the 
finest properties in England, with possibly a title as well, and a 
really beautiful girl ready to fall into his arms if he choose — that 
is one side of the picture ; a convict’s penniless daughter as his 
bride — that is the other. Can a man be sane and hesitate? 
Emphatically, no ! — and that settles the question. Now for the 
letter about the young person’s father. I must be prepared to 
show that if my young gentleman demands my authority : ’ — 

‘ Hobart Town. 

‘ Dear Madam, — In reply to your inquiries relative to the antecedents 
of David Cleeve of Encounter Bay, I beg to state that a man of that 
name, no doubt the same from your description of his person, was, when 


AUNT ARABELLA PLAYS HER TRUMP CARD 163 

a mere lad, only twenty-one years of age, transported to this colony. The 
sentence was for life, and the crime poaching. I understand that he was 
apprehended with a hare in his possession, and his defence was that he 
had picked it up on the road-side, and that he was going some distance 
out of his way to deliver it to the gamekeeper when arrested. As a great 
deal of poaching had been going on in the neighbourhood, and a game- 
keeper had been shot shortly before, the charge was pressed to the 
utmost. Young Cleeve bore an excellent character while serving his 
term, during part of which he was assigned to me, and was then allowed 
to leave the colony on a ticket-of-leave. Feeling great interest in him, I 
took the trouble to verify his statements, and am thus in a position to 
state that the above particulars are correct. The man was certainly con- 
victed ; but that he was innocent of even the intention of wrong there can 
be little doubt, though I fear it is quite too late now to establish his 
innocence, which, I presume, is your kind motive in making the inquiries 
contained in your favour of the 7th inst. — I am, madam, yours faithfully, 

John Grote. 

‘Miss Grantley, Encounter Bay.’ 

‘ It would, perhaps, have been more to the point if I had only 
received the bald facts from Mr. Grote, without all this un- 
necessary information as to the man’s possible innocence. I 
fear I must have expressed myself clumsily, since I evidently con- 
veyed the impression that I made the inquiries in the interests of 
Mr. Cleeve. Well, perhaps it is better so, or my correspondent 
might have declined to answer at all, as he is certainly prejudiced 
in favour of the convict. After all, it is scarcely likely to matter 
in the least. I have only to say I possess absolute proof that 
she is the daughter of “ an old lag,” and possibly to read over the 
bare facts, in order to satisfy a man whose mind is already in 
doubt.’ 

From the preceding abstracts and self-communings, it will be 
seen that Miss Grantley had been laying her plans with much 
care and skill, and that poor Petrel’s chances of retaining her 
lover against the machinations of so formidable an antagonist 
were not bright. She knew nothing of all this, however, and 
trusted on. The man she dreaded was gone ; Roland was free, and 
was coming home to her; what had she to doubt from one so 
true ? She had been afraid to write, in case the letter might be 
opened before he was allowed to see it ; no, it was better to wait 
and tell him the whole story, sitting on the old rock with his arms 
round her. 

Miss Maria, too, was waiting, with perhaps more patience, for 
the arrival of her brother. She was in a flutter about what he 
would say of her love affair. Not that he would be likely to 
object; indeed, there was nothing to which he could object. 
James Enfield was his friend and a gentleman, fairly endowed with 
this world’s goods and with excellent prospects. Then, again, she 
was quite of mature age, and not in a position to fly at too high 
game, if there were high game within her reach, which was not 
the case. Altogether, she concluded that she had done very well. 


PAVING THE WAY 


164 

and she did not want her brother to make any difficulty. Whether 
he did or not, she meant to marry the only man who had ever 
asked her ; though, of course, it would be pleasanter on every 
account to have the approval of the only male relative she had in 
the colony. 

Having thought it all out, she was quite prepared when the 
friends arrived to act the gushing, affectionate sister ; not that she 
did not love her brother, but she may well be forgiven for thinking 
more of herself at this momentous period of her life. She could 
see at once that Roland had changed considerably ; always un- 
demonstrative and self-contained, he was now almost taciturn. 
Still, she was pleased by the kind greeting he gave her. Appar- 
ently he was gratified by the loving welcome offered him, as most 
men who had just passed through such an unpleasant experience 
would be. 

‘ Say you congratulate me. Roly ; I have been so longing for 
your good wishes,’ she whispered. 

‘Then you have them most heartily, sister mine. You’ve got 
a really good fellow, better than you deserve ; but if he does not 
think so, it ’s all right, and of course he doesn’t. When is the 
happy event to come off?’ 

‘O, dear Roily, we could not possibly fix that without your 
approval first.’ 

‘ Now, you little humbug, you know that you would have had 
him with or without my approbation,’ he retorted in a quizzical 
tone. ‘ But never mind about that ; you have my fervent bless- 
ing on the top of my fraternal consent. The beloved Jem has 
pressed for an early day, which suits my erratic movements. So 
hide your maiden blushes in the intricacies of the marriage robes, 
and hurry them along. I can’t spare more than a month, if I am 
to be present to perform the important function of giving you 
away — quite a hollow form, my dear, for you certainly have done 
that, without my assistance, already.’ 

Of course the bashful virgin, at a subsequent interview with her 
lover, made many objections to the shortness of the time and the 
unreasonableness of her masterful brother. In her inmost heart 
she was delighted at the stand that Roland had taken. There 
was nothing to be gained by delay in that out-of-the-way place ; 
no presents, no grand wedding, no church, no bridesmaids, no 
anything. None of the glory so dear to all women who sacrifice 
themselves to the ogre, man, was to be hers. Why, then, delay 
the sacrifice ? 

While the lovers were arriving at this inevitable conclusion. 
Miss Grantley had so successfully manoeuvred that her nephew 
found his intention of escaping to Petrel frustrated at the last 
moment. 

‘I have a most important communication,’ she said, ‘to make 
to you ; it comes from your uncle. Sir Archibald. One which 
ought to have been made before, but for your absence.’ 


AUNT ARABELLA PLAYS HER TRUMP CARD 165 

Then the good lady proceeded to elaborate the advantages of 
the offer she submitted : rank, possibly a title in the long-run, 
wealth, and a fine landed estate, with a beautiful girl — a lady 
bom and bred — waiting to be wooed and won. All this was within 
his reach. 

‘ Is the girl an absolute condition ?’ he asked ; ‘because, if so, 
it may never be mine. I will not sell myself for all the good 
things you have so cleverly and clearly enumerated.’ 

‘No,’ she replied deliberately ; ‘your uncle says that he will 
never impose his daughter upon an unwilling husband ; but the 
principal portion of the money goes with her, and it is his great 
desire that the money and the land should go together, so that 
she may continue to live in her old home.’ 

‘ But there is a proviso of some kind, most diplomatic of 
negotiators — that I can see very plainly. Am I to know at this 
stage what it is ? ’ 

The lady looked in his calm face and prepared herself for the 
struggle. 

‘ Yes, nephew, there is a condition ; but it is one that I cannot 
think you, with a due sense of the importance of your family, can 
consider other than most proper. It is that you form no matri- 
monial connection with any but a lady of good lineage and of 
untarnished reputation.’ 

‘ Quite a hard problem to solve. What is to be considered 
good lineage and reputation in a colony like this ? and who is to be 
the judge? You, I suppose, as my uncle’s agent?’ he replied, 
the tremor in his voice showing that he understood her hidden 
meaning. 

‘ Yes,’ she said coldly, ‘ I am to be the judge ; but the problem 
is not difficult of solution, since Sir Archibald has defined his 
intentions in the following sentence : “No woman who is de- 
scended from, or connected with, any one having the convict 
stain.”’ 

‘ And what has that to do with me ? ’ he asked, quickly. 

‘ I hope and trust, nothing ; but we have fenced the question 
long enough. The young person you are, or rather were (for, 
when you have heard all I have to say, I hope you will cease to 
visit her), going to see, is intimately connected with people bear- 
ing that stain.’ 

‘ You have either said too much or not enough,’ he exclaimed, 
his dreamy eyes flashing now. ‘ Say on, if you have any more 
devil’s work to do.’ 

‘ Petrel Cleeve is the daughter of a convict under a life-sentence 
in Van Diemen’s Land.’ 

‘ How know you this ?’ 

‘ From a sure source — a man to whom he was assigned during 
the latter portion of the period he served, before he received his 
ticket-of-leave.’ 

‘ Well, aunt Grantley, your hook is well baited, and, as you are 


i66 


PAVING THE WAY 


well aware, you play upon a strong string when you play upon my 
pride. Probably you will succeed, for I am not made of stern 
enough, or good enough, metal to fling your temptations and 
bribes to hell, as I ought to do, and think only of my duty to the 
girl who as far transcends in real worth you and the whole 
family of Grantleys as the sun does the light of that candle ; but, 
remember, your success will be coupled with my inextinguishable 
hatred.’ 

‘ Fiddle-de-dee, nephew ! ’ she replied, rising ; ‘when you have 
thought this all over quietly, you will recognise that the only 
thing for you to do is to honourably meet your uncle’s wishes. 
Of course, you have been extremely foolish in paying that young 
person any serious attentions. I did not, however, suppose that 
you attributed such an accumulation of virtues to her.’ 

‘ Do not talk about honour, when you are engaged in so de- 
spicable a piece of work ! ’ he hotly retorted. ‘ What has my uncle 
ever done for me and mine ? He let us struggle on in the old 
world, and die or make our way as we best could in the new ; 
then, when he wants an heir, he thinks of me when I have sur- 
mounted the greatest difflculties and can carve my own way. 
While she — why, to her I owe my life certainly once, and perhaps 
both life and honour a second time ’ 

‘ I presume you refer to the random shot at the Murray Mouth 
as the first occasion,’ she observed with perfect composure ; ‘ but 
when was the second ? ’ 

‘ If you cannot guess, I will not explain,’ he said sullenly ; 
‘ but where or how has the supposed witness against me disap- 
peared, do you suppose?’ 

‘ Oh ! I understand ! Why, drowned in the river, no doubt. I 
don’t attribute heroic actions or extraordinary deeds to young 
girls without some reason. To be quite serious, you owe Mr. 
Cleeve far too much to trifle with his daughter. Cease to visit 
there, and she will marry the man who is courting her. A very 
fitting match, by-the-by.’ 

This was a last dart, and it went home ; with a scowl on his 
face, Roland passed out and banged the door after him. Joan met 
him at the gate, with an idea of a sisterly walk and chat, but he 
shook her off and strode on. Should he go down to the Fishery 
and get to the bottom of that insinuation of his aunt, that Petrel 
was not true? Yes, and if the fellow was there he would turn 
round and leave her for ever. An hour ago he should have 
scouted the report as the wildest nonsense ; the idea that his 
Petrel could dream of any one else, could entertain one thought 
apart from him, was too ridiculous. 

But, exasperated by the interview with Miss Grantley, he was 
ready to believe anything or do her any injustice. Still angry 
and distrustful, he approached the cottage, and there by the door 
stood the form he knew so well. Was she watching for him or 
that other? Away with the injurious, unworthy thought I She 


AUNT ARABELLA PLAYS HER TRUMP CARD 167 

recognises the only footstep in the world for her, and with a cry 
of joy comes flying to meet him. 

‘ Oh, Roland, my darling, you are here at last ! ’ clinging to him 
in all the fulness of her perfect, trusting love. Could he doubt 
with her dear arms around him and her head upon his breast ? 
No, the evil thoughts and temptations were forgotten ; he only 
remembered that he owed her so much and loved her so dearly. 

The first ecstasy of their meeting over, she desired him to go 
into the house to see the Headman, who welcomed him with all 
his old hearty cordiality. Auntie, too, bustled round to provide 
some nice things to eat and drink, as if he had never known the 
luxury of satisfying his appetite since leaving them. Sitting 
beside Petrel, he talked with the old people in his old cheery 
manner. Mr. Cleeve listened with delight to the news of the 
capital. There was, however, by common consent, no mention of 
Darkie ; that story was left for Petrel to tell. Soon he was out- 
side with her, sitting on the rocky seat, hearing the tale in which 
she had played so conspicuous a part. In her sweet, gentle 
voice she told what she had done, making light of it, and magni- 
fying the assistance others had rendered — dear old dad’s advice 
and encouragement, and auntie’s companionship and active sym- 
pathy. Holding her close as he listened, the young man’s eyes 
grew moist, and when he spoke his tones were full of grateful 
tenderness. 

‘She had saved him from a great peril, perhaps even to his 
life, for the second time ; and he could never repay it. She was 
the best and bravest of girls that ever lived’ — here a little hand 
stopped his mouth — ‘ and he would love ’ — here it was withdrawn 
— ‘ her more and more all his life long.’ 

Full of happiness and contentment, she parted from him at the 
door to seek her bed and dream of her paragon of men, come 
back to her true as ever and more loved than ever, if that were 
possible. As for him, he strode home with an elated step, proud 
of the love of such a woman, of her beauty, of her courage, of her 
devotion. It was impossible to be insensible to such attributes ; 
he felt elevated by the mere contact with her, and had no room 
for any thoughts but of what she had done and how lovely she 
was as she lay in his arms and told her tale so simply and 
modestly, as if it were an ordinary thing. He loved her, and trod 
on air as he thought what a prize he had won in her. Who of 
earth’s daughters would have dared such a splendid deed in the 
darkness of night ? A thing that must not be known, that would 
carry no honour with it, that on the contrary might entail trouble, 
even punishment and disgrace. Yet she had undertaken all this, 
ay, even risked her good name, for the sake of the man she 
loved. Forced back by the storm, the intrepid little heart had 
dared the passage again. He would never forget it as long as life 
lasted — never ! 

Asseverating these words as he lay down to sleep, Roland 


i68 


PAVING THE WAY 


dreamed that Petrel and Miss Grantley were pulling him in 
different directions, to the imminent hazard of the dislocation of 
his limbs ; and he was much concerned to see that the older lady 
was gradually drawing him away. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

LOVE AND PRIDE 

For weeks after young Grantley’s return and the events recorded, 
everything proceeded very quietly at Talkie. Miss Grantley re- 
curred no more to the subject she had so much at heart. She 
felt it would be impolitic, even impossible, to further attempt to 
drive her nephew to break off his intercourse with the Cleeve 
family. On his part, he was glad to dismiss such an unpleasant 
subject from his mind as the desirableness of giving up the girl 
in whom he found such delight. He spent nearly every evening 
with her, only returning to Talkie late at night, regardless of the 
gloomy looks or frowns of his relatives. 

Petrel was supremely happy ; she would have asked nothing 
more than that this state of things might last for ever. The 
Headman, seeing his daughter so joyful, could not bring himself 
to interfere by demanding an explanation from Roland. He 
thought he might leave it to the young people to settle and let 
things drift on. Yet he felt much uneasiness, for he knew evil 
tongues were busy — how set in motion it was impossible to dis- 
cover — with his daughter’s name and young Grantley’s. He was 
well aware that Roland’s relatives, especially Miss Grantley, 
strongly disapproved of his attentions to Petrel ; auntie had even 
been warned by zealous female acquaintances to guard her niece 
from the immoral addresses to which she was exposed : that no 
good could result from such ‘ goings on,’ that her character was 
already suffering, and very much more to the same purpose. 

For a time Mr. Cleeve dismissed these whisperings as the 
worthless, idle slander of old women’s gossip ; but now they began 
to trouble him. 

Roland Grantley’s station in the Tatiara district was claiming 
his attention all this time. During his enforced absence Floss 
Gifford had undertaken the supervision ; now the busy period 
was coming on, and it became imperative that he should person- 
ally attend to his own interests. Gifford also was desirous of a 
change — not that his physical health was suffering, but he began 
to think he was entitled to a share in the love-making going on 
at Encounter Bay. He had seen much of charming Joan, and 
desired to see a good deal more of her ; but fate seemed to be 


LOVE AND PRIDE 


169 

against him. While ‘ those two fellows ’ were away in Sydney, 
he was not too busy to make frequent visits to Talkie on various 
pretexts, flimsy or otherwise. Almost immediately after their 
return, however, he was despatched with sheep to the Tatiara, 
leaving ‘ that lucky beggar Enfield ’ to be petted and feasted back 
to health. ‘ Confound it,’ he almost wished the niggers would 
put a spear into him, just sufficiently to make him an interesting 
invalid; not through his back, as poor old Jem got it, but into 
his arm where Joan might dress it, while she sympathised over 
the pain she involuntarily caused. 

Riding about the run with such thoughts occupying his mind, 
he came to the conclusion that he was a very ill-used fellow, and 
he’d be hanged if he would stand it long. The natives were 
now giving comparatively little trouble, the fact being that their 
number of fighting men was greatly reduced, the residue realising 
that spears and waddies had no chance with the stranger’s 
powder and ball — as well they might, after the fatal results to 
them of the several trials of strength with the whites. Occasion- 
ally a hut was robbed or a sheep stolen ; but the wholesale carry- 
ing off of flocks had been effectually put down. 

To state it plainly, the wiping-out process had fairly begun. 
Alcohol, different food and manner of life, combined with the 
loathsome diseases which the white man spreads quite as impar- 
tially and widely as he does his gospel or civilisation, would soon 
do the rest. Not that these reflections materially troubled 
Gifford’s repose more than that of the other colonists. Still, he 
would have been glad, in a casual sort of way, if the station in 
which he was interested could have been established without the 
destruction of ‘ those poor devils,’ iust as many squatters have 
wished since. However, it was no use grizzling about it ; ‘ they 
had got to go under,’ and no one could charge him with unkind- 
ness to the few left to dwindle away. He gave them many old 
sheep and the offal of those slaughtered for the use of the station. 

In bringing about this general pacification he had borne his 
part like a man, and been lucky in escaping any ugly conse- 
quences — like those into which Grantley had dropped. That 
unpleasant business being happily over and Enfield worked off, 
he thought Roland might come and relieve him. He would then 
go up to Talkie and see pretty Joan. Even if she did not smile 
upon him in the way he hoped, it would be a change from the 
everlasting sheep and shepherds. What a delight to feel he 
could go to sleep without anticipating every moment being waked 
up and told so-and-so had lost half his flock. 

* Hulloa ! What ’s up now, you grinning black baboon ? * 

‘ That one white fellow ole Jemmy losem plenty jumbuck ! * 

‘ Now, may all the devils in the bottomless pit take white fellow 
ole Jemmy and you too, you messenger of evil. I ’ll clear out with- 
out waiting for him, if Grantley doesn’t come soon ! ’ exclaimed 
the exasperated Gifford. ‘ A man no sooner begins to think of a 


170 


PAVING THE WAY 


pretty face and gets into a pleasant train of thoughts than he is 
rudely brought back to the dull old grind by an aboriginal smudge 
of smut, only bearing some resemblance to a human countenance 
because it has two rows of ghastly white teeth in the middle of it.’ 

The black smudge in this case was one of the local natives 
taken into the service of the station proprietors, as was a very 
general custom in the case of the young of both sexes, the 
squatter thus obtaining cheap labour, and transforming a pro- 
bable future source of danger into an immediate benefit. 

Leaving Floss Gifford, however, to search for his lost sheep, 
we will return to Talkie, to the ringing of marriage bells ; yet not 
quite that, for bells there were few in those early days, and not 
many churches to hang them on. For all that, people got married 
and the knot was tied fast enough, as each and all no doubt soon 
found when they had occasion to look into the matter. 

The day had at last come upon which James Enfield was to 
take Maria Grantley to wife, and, as instrument for that purpose, 
a clergyman of the Anglican Church had been procured to per- 
form the ceremony. Miss Maria had given a stifled little shriek 
when that irreligious, irreverent young brother of hers suggested 
that much trouble and expense might be saved by an appeal to 
the good offices of the district registrar, and, if that were not 
sufficient, by a subsequent jump over the domestic broomstick. 
Enfield also thought it untimely jesting on a solemn matter, and 
very properly insisted upon obtaining the services of the Rev. 
Jeremiah Jiggs, a clerical luminary with only one feature worth 
mentioning, namely, his forehead, which was most expansive and 
even intellectual in appearance, though his detractors maintained 
there was nothing in it. 

There was a chapel in the village — for Encounter Bay now 
boasted of having become a centre of population — and here the 
residents for miles around assembled once or twice every Sunday. 
But for the Rev. Jeremiah Jiggs to have entered that unassuming 
‘conventicle’ with the view of performing a marriage seiwice, or 
for any other purpose, would have been to touch the unclean 
thing, to commit the unpardonable sin — in fact, it was not to be so 
much as dreamed of ; and therefore the bell over the door was 
doomed to be silent notwithstanding the joyful event which was 
to be celebrated. The Rev. Jeremiah would probably have 
strongly objected to a conventicle bell taking any part in a 
function at which he was to officiate. According to his ideas, 
there must be no temporising with those outside the pale of the 
only true Church. He would be happy to join the parties together 
in the holy bonds of matrimony in the building of which he was 
the unworthy pastor ; or he would sojourn in the service of his 
Lord at Encounter Bay, and perform the sacred ceremony in the 
house of his esteemed friend. Miss Grantley. As for Roland, 
when spoken to on the subject by his aunt, he expressed himself 
to be personally indifferent as to who officiated. 


LOVE AND PRIDE 


171 

* I don’t suppose,’ said this highly improper young man, ‘ that it 
matters one jot how, or by whom, they are married, so long as 
the knot is securely tied. If Enfield or Maria, however, can be 
made any the happier by that solemn ass professing to perform a 
divine^ act, and invoking a blessing on their union, I have no 
objection — indeed, I am charmed with their simplicity.’ 

‘ shocked at the looseness of your religious principles, 

‘ And I,’ he retorted, ‘shall never more be shocked at what the 
strictly religious principles of a lady I know will allow her to do, 
and deem it done in the cause of truth and righteousness.’ 

‘ Properly so, too,’ she added firmly, ‘ when it is to bring the 
scion of a noble house to a sense of what is due to his family and 
his order.’ 

‘ Even though subterfuge and lying are used to rake up the dead 
past of an innocent man, for the purpose of blighting the life of a 
trusting young girl.’ 

‘ Say of a possibly innocent man,’ she coolly answered ; ‘ as to 
the subterfuge and lying, that is mere supposition on your part — 
you never even asked to see the correspondence.’ 

‘Nor was it necessary,’ said he, ‘since my surmise is evidently 
so near the mark.’ 

‘ I care not ; my motive is to save an old name and title from 
disgrace and extinction. I have said nothing about my love for 
you, yet I have loved you more than all the members of our race, 
and would love you still, if you would allow me.’ 

‘ Too late, aunt ! I am not one of those who kiss the rod that 
smites them. Truth to tell, I should hate you for taking any part 
for or against me in this matter. You should have let me “gang 
my ain gait.” My own accursed pride is your strongest ally, pro- 
bably quite strong enough without any bribe of estate or title to 
prevent me doing the only honourable thing to one to whom I 
owe the deepest gratitude man can owe to woman.’ 

She would have spoken again, but he abruptly left her. 

‘ If I had but the spirit that would become me, I should bring 
my Petrel up to that sleek parson and ask him to marry us ; but, 
coward that I am, I dare not ! No, I can scoff at the pretensions 
of the Grantleys, but I cannot be the one to link the name with a 
stain. Yet I have only barely escaped the same stain myself, ay, 
and of a deeper dye, through her devotion and heroism. My 
sentence would have been “hanged by the neck until you are 
dead,” probably commuted to imprisonment for life. How, then, 
Roland Grantley, are you better than David Cleeve ? And it ’s 
not David Cleeve you ought to make your wife, but Petrel, who is 
as spotless of crime or stain as purity itself. Ah, but the case is 
different, and must be fairly stated with fitting sophistry. I, in the 
eye of the law, have been guilty of nothing. The charge of shoot- 
ing blacks, though believed by the whole colony, or the world, 
carries no disgrace with it. Serving a sentence would entail that, 


172 PAVING THE WAY 

but then I have not nor ever shall serve such a sentence, so no 
taint attaches. 

‘ David Cleeve picked up a hare, which to a man in his position 
in the wise Old World is tabooed ; to break that taboo is a deadly 
offence. Listen not to his reasons or explanations ; try, sentence, 
and transport him. He has suffered, undergone imprisonment, 
and is consequently disgraced, and that disgrace descends — 
whether deserved or not matters not one straw — to his innocent 
child. Ay, and to those after her to the third and fourth genera- 
tion. Well, it is obvious, according to the reasoning of my 
esteemed relatives, that I, a Grantley of Grantley Hall, free of all 
stain, cannot, in justice to my order and ancestry, ally myself with 
so palpable and undeniable a blot, and, moreover, fix it upon any 

offspring I may have. D n my pure-bred aunt 1 why could she 

not leave me in doubt as to that convict taint ? My virtue might 
have gone so far as not to have inquired myself, and “ignorance 
would have been bliss ” with Petrel ! Somebody said, “ The devil 
take all old women ; ” if he had known Miss Grantley he would 
have added, “ and keep them safe too, amen ! 

From all which it will be seen that Roland Grantley is con- 
siderably perturbed in spirit, and the future of our dear Petrel is 
wavering in the balance. 


CHAPTER XXX 

THE REVEREND JEREMIAH UTTERS A WORD IN SEASON 

Fortune was kinder to Maria Grantley, for she was duly married 
to the man of her choice ; the Rev. Jeremiah Jiggs performing the 
important function in a most impressive manner, not abating one 
jot of the whole service that can be used on such occasions. 

‘ I hope you don’t doubt you are effectually spliced,’ whispered 
Roland to the bride in a purposely audible tone, so that the 
reverend gentleman could hear, ‘ for you have had the compre- 
hensive whole from “ Dearly beloved” to “ amazement ’’—enough 
to make any man prefer the broomstick.’ 

Of course there was the usual feast, the tearful farewell, and 
final departure, certainly to the relief of the two most concerned. 
Then they rode away on bush steeds to Enfield and Gifford’s 
station, ‘ the Creek,’ where in the course of this story we shall be 
compelled to follow. Meanwhile, we leave them to the fruition of 
those halcyon dreams which those entering the perfect state of 
matrimony have a right to expect to be realised. 

The Rev. Mr. Jiggs was to have remained for the night or pro- 
bably longer at Talkie, and Roland, as the host, naturally ought 
to have desired to stay at home to enjoy his society and to do him 


REV. JEREMIAH UTTERS A WORD IN SEASON 173 

honour. That gentleman, however, received intelligence that 
demanded his presence at an out-station. 

‘I must start at once,’ said this shameless young man, ‘and 
shall not be back till late to-night ; pray do not sit up for me ; ’ and 
straightway he rode off to the Fishery, where Petrel was waiting, 
all excitement to hear about the wedding. With her he threw 
aside the worries of the day, and for a lime listened with a lover’s 
delight to her animated inquiries as to how everybody looked, how 
the bride bore the ceremony and the parting. 

Presently the gloom that had possessed him lately came over 
him, and not all Petrel’s flow of spirits could disperse it. He 
knew she must, when talking of such things, sometimes think of 
when she too would be a bride — perhaps even wonder that he 
never spoke on the subject. They had gone to the old seat, and, 
noticing that he had become silent and abstracted, the girl grew 
more affectionate. Then his passion broke forth in all its strength 
beyond his control. He loved her: would she be his without wait- 
ing for a parson’s blessing .? What availed that ? it could not sanctify 
their union ; their love did that, not the act of Church or priest or 
law. Poor Petrel ! loving him as she did, how was she to defend 
herself against his sophistry, urged with eloquent vehemence ? 

At last in an unguarded moment came out an implied doubt 
that he could marry her. 

‘ Fly with me, darling,’ he implored, ‘ to another colony ; in New 
South Wales I will take out another run, and we will leave this 
hateful place where they slander us, and begin a new life.’ 

‘ What, and leave dad ? ’ she cried, shrinking from him appalled. 
‘You cannot mean it. If I have not deserved better treatment 
from you, surely he has.’ 

For very shame he hung his head. ‘You would have to leave 
him if you married me,’ he muttered. 

She burst into a passion of tears so uncontrollable and violent 
that it alarmed him, and he vowed he had only been trying her 
fidelity, and soothed her back to some degree of tranquillity. But 
when they parted, though with all or more than the old caresses. 
Petrel felt the first doubts of her lover ; never more shall she know 
that complete trust in him or any man again. Love him ? Oh 
yes ! to her last hour she must do that, but not as the perfect hero 
who won her first affections. As for him, he mounted his horse 
and rode furiously away, ashamed, foiled, burning with the passion 
he felt for her, such as he well knew no other woman could ever 
inspire. On in a wild tumult he dashed, until the cool sea breeze 
calmed him down, and he could review more quietly what had 
passed. He had gone so far now that the next meeting would 
bring the end. She would certainly want to know why he had so 
changed, and then he must tell his tale, what his marrying her 
would cost him, and why. Yet he shrank from telling her what 
her father had been and was still, for he knew it would cut her to 
the heart. When once she understood the bar between them, she 


174 


PAVING THE WAY 


could not blame him so much ; and then the ignoble thought again 
occurred to him, might she not, after realising all the circum- 
stances, consent to be his without the marriage ceremony ? That 
she would offer to set him free, rather than ask him to marry her 
and blight his brightest hopes and prospects, he was sure ; but that 
was not what he desired. She was the light of his eyes and the 
joy of his heart — surely she could not leave him ; he would reward 
her for it by being faithful and true all his life long. 

His uncle, if satisfied that he had made no mSsalliance^ would 
make him his heir, and thus he should obtain the two objects of 
his great desire — Petrel and the Grantley estate. His wild gallop 
along the sea beach over, and these satisfactory conclusions 
arrived at, our hero reached home in a much more prosaic fashion 
than might have been expected on his leaving the whaling 
station. 

Nor were his dreams of a disquieting nature ; so persuaded 
was he of ultimate success, that even they partook of the same 
triumphant tinge. After years of prosperity in Australia, in 
which Petrel bore a part, he fancied that he went to the old world 
to take possession of his inheritance and title. Great were the 
rejoicings of the tenantry at the welcome given the master. Sir 
Roland, on his arrival from the far-away land ; but, though he 
could not understand why, Petrel was not with him in these 
proud moments. 

At breakfast the Rev. Jeremiah Jiggs hoped he was not fatigued 
after his arduous attention to the duties of his avocation and con- 
sequent late ride. To which the young scoffer replied ‘that he 
trusted he had not disturbed Mr. Jiggs at the prayers in which 
he was doubtless engaged, as he understood was the pious custom 
of men of the cloth at the midnight hour. As for himself, his 
burden was almost greater than he could bear, but he hoped to 
be supported under it.’ 

On this the parson looked straight down his nose, and Miss 
Grantley could not forbear a grim smile, while Joan was on the 
verge of a giggle. As the conversation was in danger of languish- 
ing, to set it in flow again Roland asked the reverend gentleman 
if he believed in ghosts, or if the spirits of the dead returned to 
the earth ? 

‘ In ancient days,’ answered the pious man, ‘ we may fairly 
assume they did, because we have the authority of Holy Writ to 
prove it ; but as the age of miracles is passed, when the body is 
once buried I think we may feel very sure we have done with the 
departed as far as this world is concerned.’ 

‘Your reply,’ said Grantley, ‘opens up an aspect of the question 
upon which I wish to be enlightened. Suppose the unfortunate 
dead has not had the advantage of pious ministrations or those of 
any one qualified to perform such holy duties, is it not then 
probable that the spirit may haunt the spot where the murder or 
violent death had taken place ? I have put the case before you. 


REV. JEREMIAH UTTERS A WORD IN SEASON 175 

sir, because it is confidently asserted in this neighbourhood that 
the missing man Salter’s ghost can nightly be seen sitting on the 
white stone on Mount Jagged where his tracks were lost ; there 
was blood on it, but not a trace beyond has ever been found. If 
you delay your departure until evening you will arrive at the 
tragic spot about the solemn hour of midnight, and may lay the 
restless spirit.’ 

‘Thank you,’ replied Mr. Jiggs ; ‘but I cannot defer leaving so 
long. I have a service to hold this evening at my own church.’ 

‘ I regret to hear it,’ was the demure reply ; ‘ your horse shall be 
brought up immediately after breakfast, since you must go.’ 

It is needless to say the object of our hero was to get rid of the 
parson, inhospitable though it may appear. He distrusted him, 
and felt that he had been incited to interfere in some way in what 
the lover knew was a crisis in his life. Already he had been 
talking with several of the gossips of the village ; probably his 
next step would be to admonish Petrel or to warn her father. 

Such, in fact, was Mr. Jiggs’s intention. He was well aware 
where Roland had been on the previous evening, having had a 
confidential talk with Miss Grantley during his absence. He had 
been informed by the lady of her nephew’s position and future 
prospects as regards the Grantley estates, and she even had led 
him to believe that Roland was bound to his cousin by all the 
laws of honour. Under these circumstances it was his manifest 
duty to warn the father of his daughter’s peril from the addresses 
of an immoral young scapegrace. 

In inciting the reverend gentleman to move in the matter. Miss 
Grantley had been actuated by the desire to induce Mr. Cleeve 
to act ; and she felt that the most effective way was to let him 
believe that Roland was not only engaged to a lady in England, 
but that by marrying Petrel he ruined his prospects of inheriting 
the family estate. She was also sure the parson’s zeal would lead 
him to hint at the immorality of the young man’s intentions ; 
which could not fail to excite the Headman’s anger and suspicions. 
All this she had prepared herself to perform personally if no suit- 
able emissary offered ; but when Mr. Jiggs appeared she was 
almost ready to welcome him as a divine agent sent in answer to 
prayer by the direct interposition of Providence. She did not tell 
him David Cleeve was a convict ; she determined that should not 
come through her, except as a last resource, as Roland would be 
sure to divulge it in some way to Petrel ; but she impressed on 
him that, if Roland Grantley married beneath him, his ruin and 
that of the old family was certain, as he might be considered 
the last of his name. The parson’s horse was brought round for 
him, and, as he rode off after an affectionate farewell to the ladies, 
Roland seriously warned him to beware as he passed the ghostly 
stone, for his horse would certainly shy at it, and one tragic event 
was sufficient for one locality. 

‘That youth is a scoffer,’ said the Rev. Jeremiah to himself. 


176 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ and deserves a severe chastisement ; possibly it might bring him 
to see the error of his ways. The day is yet young ; I will spend 
an hour in advising Mr. Cleeve of the sin and danger his child 
incurs by associating with so wicked a youth. I shall thus be 
doing my Lord’s work, and complying with the wishes of the 
estimable lady with whom I have just communed.’ 

It will be seen that Roland’s machinations, upon the success of 
which he was pluming himself, were an utter failure ; the early 
departure gave Miss Grantley’s emissary just the time and oppor- 
tunity to execute the mission intrusted to him. In brief, the saint 
had proved too clever for the sinner — by no means an exceptional 
case, even where the subtlety of the serpent and the guile of the 
unregenerate are both supposed to be on the side of the son of 
perdition. 

The Headman was sitting in his chair on the verandah, both 
auntie and Petrel being away on some household duties, so that 
Mr. Jiggs had every opportunity for an uninterrupted interview 
with the big man. After a few words of greeting he said : ‘ My 
time won’t admit of delay, so I must at once enter upon the 
reasons of my calling on you. It is a delicate subject and an 
unpleasant duty to perform, but my duty as a minister of the 
Gospel compels me to undertake even unpleasant duties when 
requested.’ 

‘ Speak plainly, sir ; there is no need to beat about the bush with 
a plain man.’ 

‘Then,’ replied the parson, ‘I am informed that young Mr. 
Grantley is paying his addresses to your daughter.* 

‘Well, what then?’ said the other quickly. 

‘ Is he a fit husband for her, think you ? I fear he is a wild, 
immoral youth, and that his intentions are not honourable.’ 

‘ By heaven, parson ! ’ broke out the Headman, ‘ you need be 
careful when you talk thus. I have known him ever since he 
came to me as a boy, and I am aware of nothing he has done to 
merit the charge you have made.’ 

‘ At best he is not a godly youth, such as a father ought to place 
confidence in, and, moreover, his station in life is different from 
that of your child ; I speak both as a friend and priest, and would 
warn you to beware of him. Besides, do you know of no cause 
why he cannot, or ought not, to marry the damsel ? ’ 

The still mighty, though wasted, frame of the Headman seemed 
to collapse at the words, and the pain-stricken face sank into his 
hands. Presently he raised his head proudly. 

‘ No, sir ; before God, I know of no reason why my daughter 
is not fit to be the wife of the best man that walks God’s earth. 
More than that, I believe no man is half good enough for 
her.’ 

‘ Well, then, I must tell you what I hoped would not be neces- 
sary. I am informed that young Grantley is engaged, in honour 
and duty, to a lady in England, and, if he marries any one beneath 


REV. JEREMIAH UTTERS A WORD IN SEASON 177 

him, he forfeits the family estates. Think you he is likely to do 
that, even though he has cast his eyes on your daughter?’ 

‘ If he is the man I have always thought him he will offer to do 
it, though I would ask no such sacrifice,’ was the reply. ‘ As to 
being bound to any woman in England, that I do not believe. 
Miss Grantley may say so — for purposes of her own — but he left 
as a child, has not been there since, and is not likely to have 
pledged himself while courting my girl. Whatever you may say, 
parson, he is not bad enough for that.’ 

‘ I will say no more, Mr. Cleeve, it is only a sacred sense of 
duty that has made me say so much. I should not be worthy of 
my high office, if I saw a profligate young man trifle with the 
affections of an innocent girl and did nothing to save her. Learn 
for yourself what is said about them in the neighbourhood.’ 

The Headman reared his tall form to its full height, his good- 
humoured face aflame with passion. 

‘ 7 ask the village gossips and tale-bearers aught of my Pet, as 
if I thought or suspected wrong of her ? Parson, I have seen the 
day when I would have taken thee by the scruff of the neck and 
seat of thy breeches and put thee on thy horse. I can’t do it now, 
but thee had better get thee gone.’ 

Then, calming himself — 

‘ Possibly you mean well, but others have made a tool of you, 
and it’s poor wages you will get for doing their dirty work ; ’ and 
the incensed giant tottered into the cottage leaving the reverend 
gentleman to ride away, feeling none of that self-satisfied, pious 
elation with which he had approached. 

‘A man of Belial still, though like Samson shorn of his strength,’ 
he thought ; ‘ the vials of his wrath will assuredly be poured forth 
on the young man when next he goes to look with longing eyes 
upon the maiden.’ 

Probably this aspect of the matter satisfied the ruffled spirit of 
the holy man, for he smiled complacently as he urged his steed 
into a faster pace, and so fades out of our story. He has performed 
his part, made one happy marriage and done his best to mar 
another. It does not fall to the lot of every man to do as much 
in the short space of twenty-four hours. 


CHAPTER XXXI 

BLIGHTED LOVE 

The Headman had barely composed himself, when he received a 
visit from Abel Turnstile, the young farmer whom we have heard 
spoken of as an admirer of Petrel. The latter was now a frequent 
visitor to the whaling station, scarcely saying a word to any one 

M 


PAVING THE WAY 


178 

but Mr. Cleeve, and as he was a pleasant companion, his visits 
were heartily welcomed by the invalid. So far the father had never 
thought of him as a possible suitor for his daughter’s hand, or that 
he came in colonial parlance ‘ to hang up his hat.’ 

Nor, indeed, had Petrel, or she would have been much more 
reserved in her manner ; as it was, she had been perfectly frank 
and at her ease. Roland never met him there, because when 
Turnstile was with her father, she, knowing that ‘dear old dad’ 
had some one to amuse him, had watched for his coming, and met 
him outside. 

To-day Abel came early, and very soon astonished his friend by 
asking in a somewhat sheepish way for his consent and help in his 
wooing. The two aspects of the same question in one day almost 
bewildered the big man in his weak state of health. He had not 
yet thought out fully all the bearings of the subject presented in 
such distasteful colours by Mr. Jiggs, but he instinctively felt there 
was much reason to fear that the views expressed by the unwelcome 
emissary were in the main correct. If so, here was a worthy 
young fellow who had no relatives to oppose, or make themselves 
unpleasant ; or if he had, they would be delighted to receive such 
a dear girl. Then again, Petrel would not be taken from him 
perhaps to the uttermost ends of the earth, as Grantley was not at 
all unlikely to do ; in which case he might never see her more. 
‘ Ah, well,’ he thought, his gentle, tender heart sinking all the 
while, ‘ even that too if she wishes it. It won’t be for long. My 
little girl must please herself.’ 

‘ Abel,’ he said, ‘ Petrel must act for herself. I will let her marry 
any one she wishes, and when she wishes ; but if you take my 
advice you will say nothing to her yet ; wait a while and see what 
turns up. It may be that she will think more kindly of you when 
you become better acquainted with each other.’ 

So it was settled. The lover was not so ardent but that he 
could ‘ bide his time.’ He knew that Petrel loved Roland too well 
for him to have the slightest chance of winning her, unless some 
strong influence were brought to bear on her. It might be by the 
father, or Grantley’s family, each member of which was bitterly 
opposed to the connection, as he in common with the whole com- 
munity knew. 

‘ I can wait,’ thought Abel Turnstile, ‘ and the proud young 
master may find that the waiting horse wins. If I do, I ’ll take 
fine care that the same district does not hold him and us. I ’m 
too fly for that. He’s a regular devil with the girls ; and they all 
appear to like him for it, too, which is more than the men do.’ 

As for the Headman, he now felt more inclined than ever to let 
things drift without attempting to control them ; yet Petrel should 
be told that if Roland married her, it must be at a great sacrifice 
to him. Both ought also to know his own miserable history. 
That had been brought home to him now that he knew his 
daughter’s lover was heir to a great estate and ancient name. 


BLIGHTED LOVE 


179 


When Roland was a mere struggling young colonial, it seemed to 
him nothing but reasonable that a good and beautiful girl like 
Petrel should marry him without any embarrassing questions being 
asked about her father’s antecedents. There had been many such 
marriages in the colonies and would be many more, in cases where 
old cqrivicts (how he winced at the word) had prospered and made 
a position for themselves. 

But with such a stake at issue it was different. No man ought 
to forfeit his expectations without his eyes being opened. Sup- 
posing the parson had told him the truth, this was what Roland 
would ignorantly do, if he married Petrel, believing her to be the 
child of a man of unstained reputation. As he was now in fairly 
independent circumstances, possibly he would fling all these con- 
siderations aside, and take her to be his wife in defiance of them 
all. 

At any rate there is no other course for me ; Roland must be 
told the whole truth. Petrel, too, will never forgive me if there is 
any concealment, and Grantley were to marry her under a mis- 
conception. I shall tell her the whole history, and then she shall 
be the judge as to what ought to be done. That she would set 
her lover free he felt very certain ; but would he accept that free- 
dom, forgetting that he owed both life and honour to her devotion ? 

In his own great, generous heart, the Headman thought this 
must be impossible. The boy he had cared for and loved as much 
as if he had been his own son, would maintain that no sacrifice 
was too great to make for such a prize to take to his heart and 
home. 

Is it not always so in actual life ? We judge others by our own 
standard, which may be too high or too low for their deserts. 

‘ Pet, dear,’ said the Headman, ‘ I want to have a long talk with 
you ; come and sit down beside me. Parson Jiggs has been here 
speaking about you and Roland, and the upshot of it all is, that 
you must be told who your father is, and how I came out to 
Australia. Come close, dear, and I will tell you the whole story 
as quickly as I can, and have done with it. 

‘ You know that I am the son of a tenant-farmer in Staffordshire, 
and that there were two of us, my brother John and myself. 
Father and mother both died when we \vere biggish boys. Being 
steady fellows we carried on the farm, and were doing very well. 
The family of the Cleeves had always borne the highest character, 
and the landlord had received his rent to the day for years past, 
and was quite satisfied with the way we cultivated his land. I 
was nearly twenty-one when I first met your mother, Ruth Barn- 
ton, the prettiest girl in the village. She was courted by a game- 
keeper named Esau Box, but though he was very determined, she 
threw him over and accepted me. For this he swore to be re- 
venged, and an opportunity soon offered of gratifying his spite. 
Poaching had been very prevalent, and it was decided to put it 
down by making an example of the first man caught. One even- 


l8o 


PAVING THE WAY 


ing I was walking along a lane near the village, which divided two 
large estates, when I came upon a wounded hare being worried by 
a dog. It was nearly dead, and to save it from the brute I picked 
it up and carried it with me, intending to leave it at a keeper’s 
cottage a little further on. I had not got far when Esau Box and 
two policemen pounced upon me from behind a hedge and charged 
me with poaching. At first it was no use my telling them how I 
had found the hare, and that I was going to deliver it at the 
keeper’s cottage. They laughed and said, “ tell that to the horse 
marines,” but after a while I believe they would have let me go 
but for Esau. One of the policemen had seen the dog chase 
something, and heard it barking, and there were the teeth-marks 
on the dead animal. Then Box put his hand on me and swore 
that, if they would not take me he would, and lag me too. I could 
not stand that, and knocked him down senseless. Fora while we 
thought he was dead, and a cart had to be got to carry him 
home. 

‘ Of course they stuck to me now, and I was locked up. The 
trial came on, and I was sentenced to transportation for life. 
That, dear, is how your father became a convict.’ The last words 
were uttered in a whisper. 

‘ My poor, dear dad ! ’ and her arms took his bowed head, and 
clasped it to her, as she wept and sobbed over him. 

‘ In Van Diemen’s Land, I was after a time assigned to a 
Mr. Grote, who was very good and kind, and when a ticket-of- 
leave was granted, he helped me to start fishing, and I soon made 
a little money. Brother John had married, and now came out 
bringing his wife and your mother, God bless him for it ! She 
and I were made man and wife, and all went well for two years. 
We then bought a schooner and combined trading with fishing. 
On one of these trips you were born, in a terrible storm, which is 
the reason we called you Petrel. Several lives were lost, and it 
was a mercy the vessel did not go down. Your poor mother 
never recovered the effects of the exposure at such a time, and 
died a few weeks later, leaving me wishing I could die too. 

‘ Then I went whaling, and after some years came here as head- 
man. John had died shortly before, so auntie came with me to 
look after you. That is all. Pet. Can you love your old father as 
much as ever ? ’ 

‘ More, dear old dad,’ and the girl smiled in his worn face, 
though her eyes were filled with tears ; ‘ I love you more than ever 
for all your goodness and all your wrongs. Oh, what you must 
have suffered, and so unjustly, too ! ’ 

There was a pause. 

‘ What became of Esau Box ? ’ 

‘ He was made alderman of the village when it grew into a 
town, and died in his bed twelve months ago honoured by all,’ was 
the answer through his set teeth. 

‘ Oh, dad, and was he never punished ?’ 


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p. 181 













BLIGHTED LOVE i8i 

* Never ; I could have died happy years since if I could have had 
five minutes with him and none to part us.’ 

The girl looked at him with her head erect and her blue eyes 
flashing with pride and admiration. It was thus that women in 
the old days encouraged heroes, when the old law ‘ an eye for an 
eye and a tooth for a tooth ’ still prevailed. 

‘ Must Roland be told ? ’ she presently asked with a blanched, 
inquiring face, like one who had not yet realised what it all meant. 
‘ For your sake I will give even him up, and then this horrid secret 
need never be known,’ and she burst into a passion of tears. 

‘No, Pet, he must be told, though I expect that his aunt has 
taken care that he has already been informed, and then you and 
he must decide for yourselves what is to be done.’ 

Then he acquainted her with Abel Turnstile’s suit as a thing 
that she ought to know ; but seeing the pained look in the face he 
idolised, he added, ‘ Don’t let it trouble you. Pet ; if you like, I 
will tell him there is no hope for him.’ 

‘Tell him never to say a word about it to me,’ she cried with 
such distress, that the indulgent father promised anything to 
soothe her. 

Unfortunate Petrel I With a heavy heart she met her lover that 
night at the trysting-place. There was a restraint upon him too, 
for he had determined to tell her all, and learn if there was any 
denial of his aunt’s charge, that David Cleeve was a convict. But as 
he looked in her face, pale and more lovely than ever in the moon- 
light, and felt her arms clinging to him, his heart failed. So in 
silence they stayed for a while, and then she spoke — 

‘ Roland, Mr. Jiggs came to father to-day and told him some- 
thing about you. Something that I ought to know, for he says it 
may part us,’ and she clung the closer, her head resting on his 
breast. 

Bending over her he whispered, ‘ The parting, darling, will 
depend on you,’ and then he told her all — the conditions on which 
the great estate would be his, and that, but for the indelible stain 
upon her father’s name, he would marry her, and trust to her 
beauty and goodness to plead their cause with his uncle. 

At these words, she drew herself from his arms and stood alone, 
silent and motionless, with a look of dismay and reproach in her 
eyes which was bound to haunt him to his latest hour. 

‘ Is the tale about your father true?’ he asked, putting out his 
ann to clasp her again, but she recoiled from him. 

‘ That he suffered wrongfully ? — yes.’ 

‘Ah, Petrel, but the odium attaches all the same,’ he said 
sorrowfully. ‘ I am sure he was not guilty, but we can never 
prove it after all these long years, and if we could, my uncle would 
never forget or forgive what has been ; he is so proud of his old 
family and name.] 

She sank weeping on the stone seat as if unconscious of his 
presence, but, when he touched her, she looked up. 


PAVING THE WAY 


182 

‘ You here still ? why are you not gone ? ’ 

‘ I cannot leave you,’ he said ; ‘ I love you. O Petrel, forgive 
me if my pride cannot forget what your father has been. I could 
never endure the taunts and gibes I should meet. I cannot throw 
off all the teaching and training of my childhood, like an old 
garment. I am not noble enough to sacrifice so much. But will 
you not be mine without that hateful tie, which those who love 
each other as we do need not to bind them together for ever ? ’ 

He had taken her again in his arms and passionately pleaded 
in eloquent burning words, while she clung to him like one taking 
a long and last farewell. Still he urged her, his soul on fire at 
the sight of her beauty, and believing her silence implied consent. 
How it was he knew not, but she slipped from his encircling 
embrace, and he was alone. He could yet feel her kiss upon his 
lips, how then could he guess that it was the last caress save one 
he would ever receive from the woman who loved him more than 
all the world? To-morrow night he would surely see her come 
again to whisper that she loved him too deeply to let him go ; yet 
he lingered at the spot where she had been but a moment ago, 
almost believing that she would even then return. How lovely 
she was, worth all the wealth and rank of the old world ! If she 
came back now, he would sue for forgiveness and abandon all for 
her sweet sake. Should he follow her to the cottage and boldly, 
bravely, like an honourable gentleman, claim her as his bride? 
The generous impulse was on him ; why did his pride prevail and 
turn aside his advancing steps ? No, let her come to him and he 
would be satisfied and lay all at her feet ; and so Roland Grantley 
flung his happiness away. 

It was a night of mourning. All through the long hours Petrel 
sighed and wept over her ruined hopes and blighted love, not for 
herself only but for him, once her idol, her king among men, whom 
she had thought endowed with such noble attributes. How had 
he fallen — down — down to the common level of ordinary mortals, 
and yet her heart pleaded for him. If he came again, could she 
resist ? No, she must end it as her father desired. 

The Headman was early astir, and with wistful eyes was gazing 
over the sea that he would never more traverse, when his daughter 
joined him, her pale face sad, but composed, as that of one who 
has watched and prayed all night over the beloved dead, whom 
she shall see no more. 

‘Dad,’ she said, ‘I will marry Abel Turnstile at once, but he 
must take me away for a time.’ 

‘ My poor Pet,’ replied the father as he kissed her, ‘ God bless 
you ! ’ 

Nothing more was said, but each felt that the other knew that 
all was over between Roland Grantley and Petrel Cleeve. 


ROLAND LOVES AND RIDES AWAY 


183 


CHAPTER XXXII 

ROLAND LOVES AND RIDES AWAY 

Roland Grantley lay abed rather later than usual, with his 
window open to admit the morning air coming in fresh and pure 
from the sea. He had been out late, waiting at the trysting-place 
for Petrel, in the vain hope that she would meet him. Refusing 
to believe that she could give him up, and therefore ready to 
assign her absence to any other cause, he had been devoured 
with impatience and a tumult of conflicting feelings, and, when 
compelled to leave the spot by the utter hopelessness of her 
appearing, he was in a fit condition for any desperate deed. 
All had long gone to rest when he reached home, but that was 
no unusual thing of late, and without disturbing any one, he went 
to his room &nd tossed to and fro, unable to satisfy himself why 
Petrel had not come to meet him. Even if the Headman were 
ill, she surely might have come for a moment to say so. Could 
she be ill herself? No, he had seen her shadow on the window- 
blind. There was some other cause which he must fathom. 

Daylight broke with this purpose still occupying his mind. 
Yes, he would find it all out to-day, even if he went to the house 
and confronted the Headman, which, since he had determined 
to induce Petrel to elope, he had shrunk from doing. He feared 
a scene, and, from the coldness of his reception on his last 
visit, it was evident that both the old people distrusted him. 
No matter ; get to the bottom of the mystery he must, if he 
bearded all the guardians ever appointed by the Providence that 
watches over maiden innocence. He would circumvent them 
yet ; Petrel should be his, by fair means or foul. She could not 
resist him, provided he only had the opportunity to press his 
suit. She loved him far too well for that. Ah ! a sudden light 
broke upon him — that was it ! — knowing, fearing his influence 
and power over her, she was keeping away from him, and the 
others were helping her. By Heaven, he would see her, in spite 
of herself, and win her too. 

‘Joan,’ his aunt’s voice came in loud tones through the open 
window, and instinctively he felt it was for a purpose (in fact 
Miss Grantley never acted without a motive) — ‘ have you heard 
the latest item of local intelligence that is popularly supposed to 
interest us poor women-creatures most ? Petrel Cleeve is to be 
married to-morrow.’ 

‘To whom?’ came the reply, in a suppressed tone, for Joan at 
once thought of her brother. 

‘No other than Abel Turnstile, who has been courting her 
lately. I told you how it would be, my dear.’ 


PAVING THE WAY 


184 

With an imprecation that would have lifted Miss Grantley’s 
false hair off had she heard it, Roland sprang up. The problem 
was solved without any trouble on his part. Some kind of 
intuitive perception told him, incredible as it might appear, that 
the report was true. Was he to be baffled thus, and that thick- 
headed clod to snatch the prize he had always looked upon 
as his own ? 

‘ By God, if so, it shall be soiled,’ he swore. ‘ Can she, loving 
one man, as she undeniably does, marry another ? Why, damna- 
tion, it is worse than prostitution ; the vilest trafficker of her 
person in the streets might well gibe at it ; to the deepest hell 
with pure women if they can do such things and justify them.’ 

Should he snatch her from them now, by marrying her ? That, 
at least, was in his power. No ; he would take a deep revenge ; 
he would bear her away when she was a wife — not at the church 
door quite, but a little later. He would only require a few moments 
with her alone, and that could be arranged by some subterfuge 
put in practice to get the new-fledged bridegroom out of the 
way. 

The man was indomitable in his purpose, and there was a strong 
ally striving constantly for him in the heart of the girl, who shrank 
from the course she was committed to, scarcely daring to hope 
that at the last moment there might be some means of escape. 

‘ I will see her to-night, and win her from them yet,’ he muttered 
to himself. But night came and went without his being able to 
meet her. Then his pride came to his aid. 

‘ She could come to me if she wished,’ he thought ‘ She must 
have heard my signals, and, however watched, might have seized 
some opportunity. If our positions could be reversed, I would 
have gone to her through fire and water. It is all over now ; she 
will be married to-day. So be it ! My beloved aunt has won, 
and will probably attribute it all to a further manifestation of the 
divine interposition of Providence in shaping events to suit the 
projects of the scheming members of the house of Grantley. Say, 
rather, that it is an exemplification of the devilry that can be 
wrought by an intriguing, unscrupulous old woman in prosecution 
of her own selfish interests. But, aunt of mine, if I ever become 
the lord of Grantley Hall, there shall be no warm nook, no share 
in the splendour of the position for you, nor safe provision for 
your old age either. I dare swear, though, you have already 
made that secure with Sir Archibald beyond my power to alter.’ 

That evening he could not keep away from the old trysting- 
place. He went to see if Petrel had left any sign by which he 
would know that she had been there, or would come. 

There was nothing, but, by the lights and moving forms in the 
cottage, it was evident that the marriage-festivities were going on. 

With a deep curse he turned to leave, when a girlish figure 
appeared in the darkness— not Petrel, he knew that at a glance. 
There was no other who possessed her light, graceful, fairy-like 


ROLAND LOVES AND RIDES AWAY 185 

form, or the gliding, noiseless step with which he had seen her so 
often hasten to meet him. 

‘ What is it ? ’ he asked, ‘ you have some message ! ’ 

It was the ring returned to him that he had given her long ago. 
He took it, to toss it into the sea, but checked himself. It was a 
memento of her that he might value yet. 

‘ Go,’ he said to the girl, ‘ and bring her here, if but for a 
moment. Tell her I will see her to-night — she may choose 
how ! ’ 

Would she come.? Yes! There was no mistaking the one 
woman he would ever love with the burning passion that is now 
consuming him. He is at her side, gazing with flashing eyes 
into her tearless, hopeless face. Ah ! how changed since last 
they met 1 

‘ How has all this come about ?’ he fiercely asked. 

‘ Oh, I know not,’ she answered wearily, ‘don’t ask me.’ 

‘Why did you leave me.? How could you have the heart to 
do it?’ 

‘ I hoped to the last that you would claim me, even at the church 
door,’ she said, in the same weary tone. 

‘ Come now ! now ! ’ he cried, vehemently. 

‘ Too late ! Too late I I am a wife I Farewell I ’ 

He snatched her to him. ‘ My darling, come I Come ; I love 
you 1’ 

There was a noise of opening doors at the cottage, and loud 
voices were heard. 

‘ They are coming,’ she said. ‘ Let me go I ’ 

‘ I care not ! I will not let you go I You are mine !’ 

‘Too late!’ she replied despairingly. ‘For my sake, let 
me go ! ’ 

His arms fell from her, and he stood alone ; ah ! never before 
so much alone, not even when on the Ninety Mile Beach, a deso- 
late boy, he fled for his life. Henceforth a solitary man, to fight 
life’s battles carrying with him a load of vain regrets and remorse. 

No, not yet ! The indomitable spirit of the man sternly refused 
to acknowledge defeat. He would go to Abel Turnstile’s house 
and wait there concealed ; there might still be a chance of seeing 
her alone and bearing her away. He thought not, recked not of 
the consequences to her. If she would go he would take her. 
The Star and his other best horse were ready, and they could be 
miles away before pursuit was organised. 

Furious with anger and impatience, he waited long hours. 

‘ I will give her every opportunity,’ he thought, as hour succeeded 
hour; but they came not. At last he mounted his horse and 
returned to the Fishery. All was in darkness. It was evident 
the guests had dispersed ; but what of the wedded pair ? He 
ground his teeth as he realised that once more he had been out- 
witted. 

‘ Perhaps it is as well so,’ he muttered grimly, ‘ for if we two 


i86 


PAVING THE WAY 


met now, Abel Turnstile, if there is any manhood in you, there 
would be murder done. Come up, old Star ; you have borne a 
part in a crisis of my life before now ; but never such a devil’s 
dish as this. Oh for the old days when a man might follow and 
fight to right or revenge his own wrong.’ 

In the morning he learned that, almost directly after he had 
seen her. Petrel was taken by her husband to a friend’s house 
some miles on the road to Adelaide, and that they were on their 
way to another colony. 

‘ Why could you not have told me this last night ?’ he asked the 
girl, the same who had served as Petrel’s messenger. ‘ I would 
have been for ever grateful.’ 

‘ It was all arranged before, but I did not know it until they 
found out you had seen her, and you were gone then. Besides, 
they scolded me so and never let me out of their sight,’ and she 
began to cry. ‘ Indeed, sir, I would have done more if I could.’ 

‘Thank you,’ and he shook her hand, ‘don’t cry ; it is better 
as it is — you know “marriages are made in heaven” — or — 
hell.’ 

Stern and self-possessed, he occupied the next day in business 
connected with his property, and then took his departure for the 
Tatiara, never by word or look having indicated to Miss Grantley 
that he was aware of the part taken by her, through Mr. Jiggs, in 
shaping the events of the last few days. 

As he rode off — 

‘ There goes the future baronet. Sir Roland Grantley of Grantley 
Hall,’ she exclaimed complacently to Joan. ‘It is to be hoped 
that when he takes possession of his honours and estates he will 
be actuated by kinder feelings towards her to whom he owes 
them. Still, I don’t love him the less ; he is a masterful young 
fellow, capable of feeling a great passion, and of doing great 
things. He will never forget his lost love ; but that does not 
matter if he marries Sir Archibald’s daughter and leaves heirs 
to the family estate.’ 

‘Poor Roily, I am dreadfully sorry for him, going away so 
wretched,’ said Joan. 

‘ Pooh ! pooh ! my dear. His going means Floss Gifford 
coming — the discarded lover gone— the ardent wooer present. 
It must be acknowledged that our sex plays strange pranks 
with the lords of creation. I have often wished to be a man, 
but since yesterday I think I am glad I am a woman.’ 

From which it may be inferred that Miss Grantley congratu- 
lated herself on the triumphant consummation of her resolution 
to prevent what she called her nephew making a fool of himself 
by marrying that ‘ pretty young person.’ 

‘ If I had only succeeded in parting the silly things,’ she sub- 
sequently explained to Joan, ‘it would not have been half so 
satisfactory, because I should have always feared something 
bringing them together again. Men are such foolish creatures 


ROLAND LOVES AND RIDES AWAY 


187 

where a pretty face is concerned, and I must allow that girl is 
remarkably good-looking ; but she is married now, my dear, and 
in this case really done for. Thank goodness, the episode is 
finally closed, and I may look upon it as though it had never 
been. It was a danger — an imminent pressing danger — to the 
Grantley house and line. I should not wonder now if I succeed 
in inducing Roland to return home to press his suit with his 
cousin, just to show “ the pretty young person ” that he is not 
inconsolable. That is just what one of our sex would do. Of 
course, men are different, and not infrequently wear the willow 
until quite old age. I can only hope my nephew will recognise 
his duty to the family, even if he is not to be swayed by the 
considerations that would actuate us women.’ 

Joan in her heart did not at all agree with these, as she thought, 
disparaging observations respecting the constancy of her sex to 
even a lost idol. She thought if Floss could marry some one else 
she would never, never love another, and without doing that, could 
she bring herself to become a wife ? Obviously not, and the girl 
who could do so was a ‘nasty thing.’ Now, Joan had never 
thought Petrel a ‘nasty thing;’ indeed, though her aunt had 
taken care that the two girls saw little of each other, yet they 
occasionally had met, and the young English lady thought the 
Headman’s daughter the loveliest girl she had ever seen, and one 
of the best into the bargain. 

At one time she had been ready to help her brother to win her 
for his bride and to take her to her heart as a sister, but Roland 
had nipped her approaches in the bud. He would not discuss his 
love affair with any one, much less with one of his own family. 
What could poor Joan do then but let things take their course.? 
But when Petrel flung over her brother and married that common- 
place farmer in preference, she could not understand it. That 
such an innately refined girl should take the poor farmer and 
reject the born gentleman, the man she loved, as every one 
believed, was passing strange, and Joan had to give it up as 
inscrutable. 

Then there were pleasanter things to think about ; the arrival 
of that paragon of men, Mr. Floss Gifford, for example, to look 
forward to. She could not discuss this with her aunt ; in spite of 
the lead-over that usually austere lady had given her on Roland’s 
departure, things were not advanced enough between them for 
her to be taken into confidence yet ; but when she met Maria and 
James Enfield there was much pleasing badinage. She pretended, 
of course, in the proper maidenly manner, that it annoyed her, 
but she could not prevent a tell-tale colour coming into her face. 
On several occasions she found imperative reasons why she should 
visit the Creek to see dear Maria, and when there was very 
particular to ask if anything had been heard of Roland. 

When three weeks had elapsed another visit became absolutely 
necessary. She had that day received a brief note from her 


i88 


PAVING THE WAY 


brother, saying that he had safely arrived at the Tatiara, so her 
anxiety could not be on his account. As she rode up Enfield met 
her at the gate to take her horse. 

‘Such a bother,’ said he. ‘Gifford has found it absolutely 
necessary to leave the station, and is not expected back for several 
weeks, perhaps months.’ 

‘Then he won’t be able to visit you for a long time,’ replied 
Joan, with a brave attempt to prevent her face from flaming. 

‘Who said he wouldn’t,’ answered he, with affected surprise. 
‘ Why, that is just the reason he was so anxious to start, almost 
before Roland had time to take off his boots. Never was a fellow 
in such a hurry. I believe there’s a girl in the case; perhaps 
half-a-dozen,’ he added, mischievously. 

But Joan was gone, quite in a flurry, to inform Maria that her 
husband was a wretch. After hearing how she had been caught, 
her sister consoled her with the intelligence that Mr. Gifford might 
be expected in two days. 

‘ I will ride over to see aunt when he arrives,’ she said, ‘ and 
arrange for you paying the promised visit to us. I dare say he 
will offer to escort me, as Jem already complains that honey- 
mooning has thrown his work behind, and will be glad to relegate 
that duty to him. They soon tire of us, my dear, and fly off to 
the all-absorbing sheep and cattle.’ 

The young lady did not reply to a conclusion so uncomplimen- 
tary to the male sex, but she no doubt felt quite confident that her 
future husband would never neglect her society for the four-footed 
animals that have sprung from Noah’s stud. 

Shortly after this she departed for home with the pleasing re- 
flection that another three or four days would bring her king of 
men to woo her. Of that she felt very sure, though never a word 
of love had passed between them. Then she made up her mind 
to be very reserved, and not to show him a bit the state of her 
feelings, of which she was so conscious. He must not think she 
was too easily won. Absorbed in these and other pleasant re- 
flections, she was quite surprised to find her horse rubbing his 
nose against the Talkie gates, almost before she had well started, 
as she thought. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

A BUSH MYSTERY 

The next three days did not appear the shortest in Miss Joan 
Grantley’s experience, but they were at length drawing to a close 
when two figures were seen approaching at a rapid pace. One 
was Mrs. Enfield, of that there could be no doubt ; and there wa§ 


A BUSH MYSTERY 


189 

even less, if that were possible, that the other was Floss Gifford, 
or why did her heart beat so ? Of course she was delighted to 
see her sister, but, considering they had met little more than two 
days since, surely her arrival could not account for the warm, 
even effusive welcome and that tell-tale rush of colour to her 
cheek. At any rate, Sister Maria was soon handed over to Aunt 
Arabella’s care, and Mr. Gifford had to answer a variety of 
questions respecting Roland. 

Then the plants had to be examined in the garden, though it 
is problematical whether Floss saw them, as he seemed to be 
paying more attention to his companion’s pretty flushed face — in 
which he showed very good taste, for where in all Nature’s vast 
variety of floral beauty is there one specimen to compare with fair 
maidenhood in the unconscious glory of her first love ? 

‘Now, Mr. Gifford, unless my husband is to become utterly dis- 
tracted, under the impression that you have run away with me, 
or that some serious calamity has happened, we really must go. 
Aunt says, Joan, that you can come to stay with us for a week or 
a fortnight. I daresay Jem, or some one, will ride over and fetch 
you in a few days.’ 

Floss looked as if he thought a more private farewell would 
have been the proper thing, but the inexorable young matron bore 
him off without any opportunity for this being afforded. 

‘ A nice gentlemanly young man,’ observed Miss Grantley ; ‘ he 
comes of a good family. With the exception of Roland, 1 don’t 
know any one with a more aristocratic manner.’ 

Which were high words of commendation from her, and rightly 
understood by the young lady to mean that she was quite ready 
to receive him as a nephew. 

The following day, Enfield appeared about some business con- 
nected with the Talkie property, and the indefatigable suitor 
accompanied him. On this occasion he devoted himself to the 
lady of the house in a most exemplary manner, probably incited 
thereto by the discreet Maria — a young woman wise in her day 
and generation in all pertaining to the art of wheedling guardians. 
Miss Grantley was more prepossessed than ever. 

Mr. Gifford was now pronounced to be a gentleman of excep- 
tionally good manner and address, ‘ as she had always declared.’ 

‘ Nothing to fear in that quarter. Floss,’ said Enfield, as they 
rode home, alluding to their late hostess. ‘Now for a spin along 
the beach, or we shall be late for dinner ; and, though you mayn’t 
think it now, wives, when they get us alone, can flare up if we are 
not in punctually to meals.’ 

Gifford knew this must be a playful libel, if, indeed, his friend 
meant anything at all by it. Where yet was there a bachelor 
deeply in love, and with the first mazy threads which precede 
matrimony around him, who ever believed that his idol would 
cease to smile upon him ? 

The following morning he rode down to Talkie and brought 


PAVING THE WAY 


190 

back the fair Joan in the evening, and after that the two were of 
no manner of use to anybody. They merely walked or rode to all 
the pretty places in the neighbourhood, as the way of lovers is, 
and were quite content. One afternoon a messenger came from 
Talkie to say that wild dogs had rushed a flock of sheep out of 
the yard during the previous night, and would Mr. Enfield come 
and attend to the matter at once ? 

‘ I cannot go,’ said that gentleman ; ‘ there is a lot of drafting to 
be done here. Two flocks have got boxed by the confounded 
carelessness of the fools of shepherds.’ 

‘I’ll ride over to-night,’ said Floss, ‘so as to be ready in the 
morning to hunt up the lost jumbucks. I told Roland I would 
help you to look after the place.’ 

So it was settled, and a horse was kept in the stable for his 
use immediately after the usual evening stroll with Joan. That 
night the four happy young people sat late over their dinner ; then 
the men talked in the verandah, while smoking their pipes, about 
the next day’s proceedings. 

‘ I don’t suppose I shall have much trouble about that flock,’ 
said Floss ; ‘ you say the shepherd is a good man.’ 

‘ So he is, and very likely he has got them all together again ; 
but if not, you may have a job — the dingoes are worse than I ever 
knew them.’ 

‘ Well, good-night, old fellow ; I shall not come in again.’ Then 
he passed through the house, with a cheery farewell to Maria. 

Joan was in her room — had, indeed, been reading her prayer- 
book (was it the marriage service ?) — and, on hearing her lover’s 
voice, mechanically put it in her pocket. As she was passing out 
after him, her sister said — 

‘As I am tired, Joan, we shall soon be going to bed, so I ’ll say 
good-night now,’ and the sisters kissed for the last time. 

Joan followed her lover out through the garden gate a few yards 
away. Maria watched them with a pleased, smiling glance. 

‘ He will propose to-night,’ she thought, ‘ and'to-morrow Jo will 
have such a tale to tell me about the dear fellow, and how happy 
she is.’ 

‘ Now, Maria, come to bed,’ called her husband ; ‘ I ’ve got to be 
up at daylight to draft the sheep those confounded dunderheads 
boxed to-day.’ 

‘ They will be engaged to-night,’ she answ^ered as she closed the 
door, ‘ and 1 hope he will make her as happy as you have made me.’ 

‘ If you don’t make haste and get into bed,’ a smothered voice 
from under the blankets replied, ‘ it will be easy to do that.’ 

‘There she comes in,’ replied the wife, ignoring the implied 
threat, and hearing a door open and shut, ‘ I have a good mind to 
go out and ask her all about it.’ 

‘ If you do, I ’ll lock you out for the night ; do you suppose I 
can live without any sleep ? ’ 

At the mere mention of such a direful threat as even a temporary 


A BUSH MYSTERY 


191 

suspension of conjugal rights, the young matron crept meekly in 
beside her lord, and there we leave her. 

During the night there was a heavy fall of rain, and the morn- 
ing broke dark and cloudy. 

‘ Pleasant sort of occupation handling wet sheep, a morning like 
this,’ grumbled Enfield, as he looked ruefully out of the window 
in the direction of the drafting yards, where his operations were 
to be carried on, and which were situated about three hundred 
paces away from the house. ‘ However, here come the flocks, so 
I must make haste and get ready.’ 

Presently he appeared equipped for work. 

‘Hulloa!’ he shouted to a shepherd just coming out of the 
kitchen, a building inside the enclosing fence but a little detached 
from the house, ‘ are you going to put the sheep in the garden 
instead of in the yards ?’ 

The man shouted to his dog, ‘ Baldy,’ and in a moment the 
flock swung round the fence with a rush, almost forcing in the 
front gate, and then away in a dense mass out towards the scrub, 
whence they had to be brought back. 

‘ Lucky the brutes did not smash all before them and trample 
down the few flowers we are possessed of,’ said Enfield, ‘ or both 
Maria and Jo would be in a pretty wax. As it is, they have made 
the whole place a puddle.’ 

After this, the jumbucks were on their best behaviour, and ran 
through the race as if each individual were already tired of the 
neighbour he or she had been so eager to join the day previous, 
and meant to be rid of him or her with the utmost despatch. 
Then they were counted out and pronounced ‘ all right !’ 

‘ There you are, men,’ exclaimed the owner, as one flock was 
nearly out of sight in one direction, while the other moved off past 
the house in another. ‘ I hope you won’t get in the same mess in a 
hurry. It ’s drawing too near shearing to have much of this dirty 
yard-work, if fleeces are to be fairly clean.’ 

With which observation he bethought himself of breakfast and 
turned towards the house. 

‘ Grilled mutton-chops for three, with buttered toast and flaming 
hot coffee. I ’m ready, if they are. Why, what’s the matter with 
the wife?’ 

He might well ask, for, with terror in her face, she met him, 
crying distractedly — 

‘Oh, Jem, I can’t find Jo anywhere, and she has not slept in 
bed. What can have happened to her?’ 

A hurried visit to Joan’s room at once convinced Enfield that 
she had not slept there, or been in it since she went out the 
evening before with her lover. The servant had neither heard 
her go out nor return — indeed, had not seen her since clearing 
away the dinner-things and carrying them to the kitchen. But 
sojne considerable time afterwards, as she stood in the doorway, 
she had heard Mr. Gifford’s horse as he rode rapidly away. 


192 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘The first thing,’ said Enfield, ‘is to see Floss ; he appears to 
be the last person who has seen her. I will start for Talkie at 
once.’ 

‘ Oh, Jem, you don’t think she can have gone off with him?’ 
whispered Maria. 

‘ I don’t want to say or think anything, my dear ; I only go to 
him now because he was, so far as we know, the last to see her. 
While I get my horse, look carefully if she has left a letter, or if 
any clothing has gone more than she wore when she went 
out.’ 

While preparing for this ride, his wife once more searched 
every place where a note was likely to be found, but with no 
result. The clothes, too, of the missing girl were all in their 
places, except those she had on when she kissed her sister and 
said good-night. 

‘ She never went away of her own will, whatever has happened,’ 
cried Maria, ‘ or she would not have bidden me good-night as she 
did.’ 

‘And we heard her come in,’ he answered ; ‘you did not hear 
her go out again, did you ? ’ 

‘ No, but I soon went off to sleep, and did not wake till morning 
when you got up.’ 

‘Yes, and I was just as great a sleepy-head,’ he replied. 

‘ Perhaps she has gone out for a walk, and will return presently 
laughing at us for making a fuss about nothing.’ 

‘ But she never went to bed, dear ! ’ 

‘ I had forgotten that,’ he answered sorrowfully. ‘ Well it ’s no 
use conjecturing all sorts of things ; I will be off, and shall hope 
to find her here when I get back, very sorry for having given us 
such a fright.’ 

‘ Oh, Jem, that is a vain hope ; I am sure something dreadful 
has occurred,’ sobbed poor Maria. 

‘ Don’t jump at conclusions ; we shall find her all right, I have 
no doubt.’ Then he was gone, at a pace that would soon bring 
him to Talkie. 

As he dashed on, a dark foreboding crossed his mind that an 
awful mystery was being enacted. What if his friend, urged on 
by an uncontrollable, overmastering passion, as men have been, 
had committed a crime, and then, to cover that, in his frenzy, had 
added murder. Such deeds are recorded of many, considered by 
those who knew them best as utterly incapable of evil. If so, he 
would exact a deep revenge. 

Then came a revulsion of feeling, a loyalty to the man he had 
known and trusted so long. No, he could depend upon the 
honour of Floss Gifford, though all the world condemned him. 
He would soon know ; he would ride straight up to Talkie and 
walk into the house as if he expected to meet Joan in quite the 
ordinary way. 

But these plans were upset by meeting the man he sought at 


A BUSH MYSTERY 


193 


the gate of the paddock, and the first glance at the happy face 
dispelled the last trace of doubt and suspicion. 

‘ Hulloa, Jem ! have you ridden over to congratulate me ? Joan 
said she would tell Maria the first thing in the morning, if no 
opportunity offered last night.’ 

‘Then Joan is not here?’ said the other. 

‘ Here ! ’ almost shouted Gifford. ‘ How can she be here when 
she is at the Creek ? What are you dreaming about ? ’ 

‘Floss,’ said his friend, ‘we cannot find Joan. She did not 
sleep in her bed last night, and no one has seen her since she 
went out with you.’ 

The other gazed at him with wild eyes and a dazed expression. 

‘ I don’t understand,’ he muttered. ‘ Where else could she 
sleep ? I left her at the gate.’ 

‘Thank God for that!’ murmured Enfield. ‘And you have 
never seen her since ?’ 

‘ Never. How could I ? I rode straight on here.’ 

‘Well, Floss, we must go back and find her. Perhaps it will be 
best not to tell Miss Grantley yet ; but I must call at the police 
station and inform them.’ 

The sergeant, when told of the circumstances, looked grave. 

‘ I will follow you immediately,’ he said, ‘ with two black trackers. 
There are a number of the natives camped at the Nob. I ’ll tell 
them as I pass to come after me and search.’ 

Impatient to be off and doing, the two friends scarcely listened 
to these details before leaving him. 

‘ I can’t make it out,’ said Floss. ‘ I asked her if she loved me 
almost directly we left the garden, and she seemed so happy — and 
she was, too,’ he added defiantly, as if the other were contra- 
dicting him. ‘You must be mistaken ; we shall find her laughing 
at us for being so silly when we arrive. Maybe she will be 
annoyed at the police being told, because the news will fly all over 
the district.’ 

‘ I trust you are right,’ answered Enfield, as they reached his 
house. A look in his wife’s face was enough ; he knew she had 
no good tidings. Floss grasped her hand. 

‘ I asked her to be my wife,’ he said brokenly, ‘ and she seemed 
so glad, and promised she would as soon as I liked, and things 
could be arranged.’ 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

A FRUITLESS SEARCH 

Police-sergeant Wash, attended by a trooper and two black 
trackers, rode up almost before our friends had completed their 
inquiries. He was a man with a high reputation in the force, 

N 


194 


PAVING THE WAY 


alert in manner, and never known to sufifer an offender to escape 
by placing too much confidence in him. 

‘ Mr. Enfield,’ said he, ‘ has nothing been heard of the young 
lady ? ’ 

‘Nothing ! ’ was the reply. 

‘Then I will first make inquiries of all who were last in her 
company. Please tell me what you know.’ 

As the reader is acquainted with all that James Enfield and his 
wife could tell him, we need not follow their examination. Then 
came the servant, Susan Polby. 

She had never seen Miss Joan after clearing away the dinner- 
things, nor Mr. Gifford either ; but she heard him ride away along 
the hard road as she went into the house by the front door, just 
before going to bed about half-past nine. She generally entered 
the house by the back, but, when she was outside listening to the 
loud sound of the galloping horse, she noticed that the gate was 
only partially closed, and went to shut it. Then she saw the 
front door was open, and so entered that way, closing it after her. 
She passed through the house by the pantry adjoining Miss 
Grantley’s room, as she wanted some matches to light her bedroom 
candle. Yes, she passed Miss Joan’s door, but it was shut, and 
she thought she had gone to bed. She was sure of the time, as 
she had looked at the kitchen clock when going outside. 

‘ It appears, then, Mr. Enfield, that the person you heard enter 
the house was the witness, and not your sister-in-law.’ 

‘ I fear so,’ he replied ; ‘ I only heard indistinctly, as I was in 
bed and half asleep, but some one certainly came in at about half- 
past nine.’ 

Mrs. Enfield confirmed this statement when appealed to ; she 
had only concluded it was her sister because she did not expect 
any one else to enter by the front door. 

‘Now, Mr. Gifford, will you tell us all you know ?’ 

* I will do my best,’ he replied, ‘ to give you all the information 
in my power, and as briefly as possible, for I am eager to begin 
searching for her. Miss Grantley did go out for a walk with me 
as stated ; we have been in the habit of doing so lately, but last 
night it was not so early as usual, as I was delayed arranging with 
Mr. Enfield about going to Talkie. We were out for about an 
hour, and during that time Miss Grantley became engaged to me. 
I accompanied her back to the gate, and there we parted ’ — poor 
Floss’s voice shook here — ‘and I hastened to my horse, which was 
ready saddled in the stable, as I wished to reach Talkie before 
they retired to rest. As Susan says, I did ride hard for the reason 
mentioned.’ 

‘Where did you walk with Miss Grantley ?’ 

‘ Only to a big log, a seat we had often gone to up the creek. 

‘ Nowhere else ? ’ 

‘ No, straight there and straight back, after sitting down for a 
while.’ 


A FRUITLESS SEARCH 


195 


* Are there any water-holes deep enough to drown people in the 
creek ? ’ 

‘ Not at this time of year,’ said Gifford. 

‘Now, gentlemen,’ said the sergeant, ‘we will go over the 
ground.’ 

^ The Creek station was situated on a small stream taking its 
rise in the dense scrub which covers most of the centre of the 
peninsula between St. Vincent’s Gulf and Encounter Bay. It then 
winds through the hills, increasing in volume, until it reaches the 
level country at the foot of the range, and finally mingles its 
waters with those of the mighty river, an ambitious destiny for so 
small a brook. In winter, when the heavy rains fall, it for a few 
short hours might aspire to be considered a torrent of some pre- 
tensions ; but in its usual state it was a shallow creek with no large 
water-holes from one end to the other. It was prettily wooded 
along its banks and on the flats with she-oak, gum, wattle, native 
cherry-trees, and an occasional blackwood. In the hills its course 
was almost hidden by a profuse growth of loftier timber and thick 
shrubs, bending together and intertwining their branches over its 
bed. On the north-east bank, in a cleared space, stood the home- 
stead, a low wooden building of some half-a-dozen rooms, sur- 
rounded by a paling garden-fence. It fronted up the stream, and 
at the back stood the detached kitchen, nearly abutting on to the 
bank of the creek. A little lower down was the stable, and beyond 
that the drafting yards. The road from the station passed these, 
continuing along the east bank for a mile, and then crossed in the 
direction of Talkie. The whole of the search party and residents 
assembled at the front gate facing up the creek. 

‘ Which way did you go, Mr. Gifford ? ’ asked the sergeant. ‘ But 
first, what about all these sheep-tracks close round the fence ? ’ 

He was told how that had occurred. 

‘It is most unfortunate,’ he observed ; ‘we can track no one 
where a flock has passed so thickly just after heavy rain. Please 
lead on, Mr. Gifford.’ 

For some distance the sheep had completely obliterated all 
traces of the lovers’ footsteps, then the trackers picked them up 
and followed them to the log Floss pointed out as the one they 
sat on. Carefully the lynx-eyed blacks searched round, and 
finally declared that the tracks led back towards the house. 
Slowly but surely they worked their way without any great diffi- 
culty until the sheep’s feet-marks became close, then patiently on 
from sign to sign to within a few yards of the gate where the flock 
had rushed round the fence. There they were utterly at fault. 

Circling the garden on the creek side, they took up Gifford’s 
tracks now alone, and followed them to the stable, where they 
ceased. They then endeavoured to find traces of the lost girl by 
making circles completely round the station of ever increasing 
radii, the sergeant searching up the stream and satisfying him- 
self that none of the water-holes were deep enough to hide a body. 


PAVING THE WAY 


196 

Then the trackers reported that no track like the girl’s had gone 
from the house in any direction unless on the two lines where the 
flocks were driven, one going north and the other south. There 
the softness of the ground, in consequence of the heavy rain, had 
allowed it to be trodden to a puddle by the sheep, and they were 
again at fault. 

‘ Too much rain ; too much jumbuck,’ objected they. ‘ No good, 
no good !’ 

By this time several of their countrymen from the Nob appeared 
in obedience to the commands of the sergeant, and were de- 
spatched to beat the scrub in all directions, men on horseback tak- 
ing the wider range. All the rest of the day they searched, and 
according to arrangement, as night fell, met again at the starting 
point. Last of all came Gifford. Every one had the same tale to 
tell ; no sign of the lost girl had been found. 

As instructed, when beating the thick scrub, and less frequently 
in the open country, they had kept coo-eeing to each other ; and it 
seemed impossible that she could be alive anywhere near, other- 
wise she would have heard and answered them. 

It was now suggested that she might have wandered down to 
the edge of the lake and fallen in, or got entangled or lost in some 
of the reed-beds. The blacks had canoes on the water, and there 
were boats at the Elbow. The sergeant therefore gave instruc- 
tions that a close examination should the next day be made in 
them along the margin of the river and lake, in conjunction with 
a party on the shore. 

So another long, profitless day passed, without the slightest 
trace of Joan Grantley being discovered. Her aunt was now at 
the Creek with her remaining niece, the one trying to console the 
other with some hope, when hope was fast dying out. The whole 
thing was shrouded in mystery. It seemed inconceivable that 
the girl could have wandered away without leaving some trace 
by which the keenest trackers in the world could follow her up. 
True, heavy rain had fallen, and large bodies of sheep in compact 
order had passed over the ground near the station ; but further 
off they had spread out, and yet no track could be found after the 
strictest search. 

On the evening of the second day Sergeant Wash sought a 
private interview with Mr. Enfield, and, after describing the ex- 
haustive examination of the margin of the lake and of the reeds, 
he said— 

‘ Now, sir, I feel it my duty to inform you that I cannot believe 
the young lady left your home on foot or by herself. In this 
opinion I am borne out by all the black trackers. Nor is she 
anywhere near here, dead or alive, because there is no place 
where she could be concealed that has not been searched.’ 

‘Well, then, what do you think has become of her?’ asked 
Enfield ; ‘ how could she have got away ? ’ 

‘ I see you guess at my meaning,’ said the officer, looking in his 


A F*RtriTLESS SEARCH 


197 

troubled face. ‘ As to your question, “ How could she have got 
away ?” I answer, “ On Gifford’s horse ! 

‘ But there were no tracks from near the gate to the stable,’ 
said Enfield with a start. 

‘ A strong man could easily carry her,’ was the brief reply. 

‘ But unless she went willingly, she would have screamed.’ 

‘ Perhaps she had not the power.’ 

Again Enfield started. ‘ Speak out, what do you suspect ? ’ 
he demanded, but in so low a tone that the other scarcely heard. 

‘ Is it true that your sister-in-law is subject to fainting-fits?’ 

‘ Not often, but she has had several since I have known her.’ 

‘ Well, she might have been carried off in one of them,’ answered 
the sergeant, with an intent look at Enfield. 

‘ By Heaven 1 I never thought of that,’ exclaimed he. ‘ But 
why should he ? The girl was fond of him — that I will swear to.’ 
Then he gazed steadily in the officer’s face. ‘By God, I know 
what you mean now, and don’t believe he could be such a villain. 
If part of your surmise is true, and he was carried away by his 
passion sufficiently to do such a deed. Floss Gifford is not the 
man to add murder to it. No, sergeant, you had better dis- 
miss such dreadful suspicions,’ he added, all the more earnestly 
that they had occurred to himself. 

‘ The fact that he is proved to have galloped off so fast gives 
colour to my theory,’ was the cool retort. 

‘ By the Lord,’ angrily replied Enfield, ‘ you will persuade me 
directly that there is something in your vile notion ! ’ 

‘ As yet,’ said Wash, ‘ there is no evidence, but to-morrow I 
intend having the horse-tracks followed, if they can be after so 
long a time has elapsed and so many have since gone up and 
down. We shall certainly be able to find if they leave the road 
anywhere, and if I discover any suspicious circumstances, I shall 
arrest Mr. Gifford.’ 

‘ Your theory is just the one that a police-officer would adopt, 
replied Enfield, ‘ because there is no other apparent solution to 
the mystery ; but, depend upon it, you are on the wrong scent. A 
suspicion of this sort came into my mind at first, I admit ; but 
who can be in the company of the man you suspect, even for an 
hour, and believe him capable of such a diabolical crime?’ 

‘ Hundreds of people have believed in their friends as you do, 
but what say the annals of the police-courts ? How many times 
in your own recollection has guilt been brought home to those 
who were deemed incapable of an evil thought ? I don’t suppose 
for an instant that this crime was premeditated, but the oppor- 
tunity, the temptation came, which so many of the best men 
cannot resist. Then the deed had to he hidden somehow.’ 

‘ So he carried her off while still insensible— that is what you 
insinuate?’ 

‘ Nay,’ replied the sergeant, ‘ I have not arrived at any con- 
clusions as to where the actual crime took place. It may have 


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PAVING THE WAY 


been here or subsequent to her being carried off. In any case, 
reviewing the circumstances as they are presented to me, I cannot 
but think they gravely compromise your friend. By-the-by, 
where is he to-night?’ 

‘ Gone out to look for the girl you think he first outraged and 
then murdered,’ said Enfield, sternly. 

‘ It may possibly be part of a deeply laid plan, and he may be 
missing to-morrow ; but, if he does attempt it, he will find it not 
so easy. Let that pass, however. As I have intimated, my men 
will be engaged to-morrow on the horse’s trail. In the evening I 
will see you again. I presume you will continue the examination 
of the back-country with all the hands available; it is useless 
trying to track her in that thick scrub.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Enfield, ‘ I will take care that much of the old 
ground and more new is gone over.’ 

‘ And don’t suppose that I am actuated by any ill-feeling 
towards Mr. Gifford,’ said the sergeant, as he rose to go. ‘ With 
appearances as much against you, I should have been quite as 
likely to suspect you.’ 

‘ Go to the devil 1 ’ shouted Enfield, indignantly. 


CHAPTER XXXV 

DARK SUSPICIONS 

Without waiting to witness the effect of his parting remark, the 
sergeant left the room, and a few minutes later Maria entered 
with a sad and troubled face. Sitting down near her husband, 
she said — 

‘ The only thing I cannot find is her prayer-book. It is nowhere 
in her room, and she always kept it on her dressing-table.’ 

‘ Can she have taken it with her?’ he asked. 

‘ Very likely, as I think I saw her reading it a little before she 
went out, and, hearing Floss leaving you, she might have hurriedly 
put it in her pocket. It has her name in it, so that if any one 
finds it he will know to whom it belongs. 

‘Jem,’ she whispered, ‘we shall never see her alive again; 
perhaps the prayer-book may have been some comfort to her. I 
believe she has got lost somehow, away in the dreadful scrub. I 
am sure if I was once out there alone, I should never find my way 
back, and should die of fright ; and she would feel just the same. 
Fancy what it must be at night, lost and alone, with the horrid 
wild dogs and snakes and things about one. This is the third 
dear, and she will be mad or dead before it is over, if 
she is not now. Each day, while you have been away, I have 


DARK SUSPICIONS 


199 


searched under every log and bush all round, but not a sign could 
I see/ 

He looked at her sorrowfully. Should he tell her what the 
trooper had said? No, that would only increase the suffering she 
now endured. 

‘ Has Floss,’ he asked, ‘ confided more to you than he told the 
sergeant ? ’ 

‘ Only that she seemed so happy when he proposed to her. He 
can’t bear to speak about it. Poor Floss, it’s dreadful for him. 
And Roland — O, Jem, he must be sent to.’ 

‘Yes, dear, I intend sending a messenger to-morrow, and must 
write to-night. I put off doing so before, always hoping she 
would be found.’ 

When morning came, all hands were assembled to prosecute 
the search, not now with the eagerness evinced at the earlier 
stages. Most of them had given up all hope, and only continuec? 
in obedience to orders, many of the blacks loudly proclaiming 
that ‘ Muldarpie ’ (their evil spirit) had taken the missing woman ; 
and it was evident that even the high rewards offered by Mr. 
Enfield would not induce them to penetrate into any places of 
which they had a superstitious dread. To obtain the best results 
from them, they were divided up among the whites. Floss assum- 
ing the command of one party and Enfield of the other. Again 
the country was well searched ; flags that had been planted on 
the high hills were visited, in the hope that they had attracted 
the attention of the wanderer, and that she would be found by 
one of them. In many places fires had been kept up for the 
same purpose, but all was in vain. When late at night the 
parties returned to the station, there was not a man or woman 
but now felt that Joan Grantley would never be discovered alive. 
Among the natives, tired and ill-tempered from having been com- 
pelled to continue a profitless pursuit all day, there was heard 
nothing but reiterated murmurs of ‘ Muldarpie ’ being at the 
bottom of it, and how stupid white fellows were for not recognis- 
ing the fact as they did. 

The sergeant had already arrived, and immediately led Enfield 
apart. 

‘ I can see you have not discovered anything tending to solve 
the mystery,’ he said ; ‘ nor have I been more successful.’ 

‘Am I to understand, then, that your suspicions are dispelled?’ 

‘ By no means. Though the tide was high — had indeed only 
fallen a very little — at the time Mr. Gifford left here, the tracks 
show that he went down to the beach at the Gap. I grant there 
is nothing to excite remark in that, as he probably did not know 
the state of the water, and preferred that road to Talkie ; but, on 
the other hand, it would give an opportunity to dispose of the 
body by casting it into the sea.’ 

‘ Only to be washed up and found,’ said Enfield, incredulously. 

‘ You forget the tide was going out,’ returned the officer, ‘ and 


200 


PAVING THE WAY 


that sharks abound in the bay, attracted by the whale-fishing. 
Then, again, I have found that he did not arrive at Talkie until 
nearly twelve o’clock, and was, consequently, close upon two hours 
riding twelve miles — a very long time considering the pace he 
started at. Only Joe Flapper, the cook’s husband, was up waiting 
for him, as it appears he was expected.’ 

‘ Well, what does Joe say ? ’ asked Enfield. 

‘ Simply that Mr. Gifford was very silent, did not want anything, 
declined having supper, and, saying he knew his way, gave his 
horse to Flapper and went into the house.’ 

‘All very natural for a man thinking of the girl he had just 
asked to marry him,’ observed Enfield. 

‘ And just as natural for a man anxious to avoid observation,’ 
retorted the sergeant. 

‘ What about the night, or early morning ? ’ 

‘ Nothing was heard or seen of him till daylight, when he ap- 
peared, and immediately started for the out-station to look for the 
lost sheep.’ 

‘Anything suspicious in that?’ inquired Enfield. 

‘ No,’ was the reply, almost regretfully uttered ; ‘ I am bound to 
admit that, with the exception of the length of time occupied on 
the journey and the going down to the beach at nearly high tide, 
all appears straight enough.’ 

‘ No sign of a struggle anywhere ? ’ 

‘None that we could be sure about. At the Gap he certainly 
appears to have dismounted, but there is so much loose sand that 
nothing can be traced after an hour of a strong breeze such as 
blew that night.’ 

‘ Well, sergeant, you seem to me to be trying hard to establish 
your theory of my friend’s guilt, with very indifferent success 
so far ; and, as I have before told you, I feel sure you are quite 
wrong.’ 

‘ Perhaps so ; I shall, however, continue the search to-morrow 
for the body all along the coast, and, if nothing results, I shall be 
obliged to acknowledge I have failed to prove my case. At present 
I do not wish Mr. Gifford to know that I suspect him, but later I 
must ask him a few questions. Now as to future operations. It 
is the end of the third day since she was missed, and the chance 
of finding her alive is a very remote one ; but I am anxious to do 
everything in my power, not only to carry out my own ideas, but 
any suggestion you can offer.’ 

* I am at my wits’ end,’ said Enfield sadly ; ‘ to-day we have 
gone over a wide range of country, but in that dense scrub we 
might pass close by and never see her.’ 

‘You mean if she is dead or too weak to call out?’ asked the 
trooper. ‘ I am afraid you are right. If lost out there, she could 
scarcely survive so long. Still, try again in the morning in other 
directions. I may find something on the Murray beach that will 
set all at rest. Good-night.’ 


DARK SUSPICIONS 


201 


As soon as the sergeant had left, Enfield joined his friend. 
Gloomy, haggard, and with wild, feverish eyes, he looked as if he 
had not slept since the disappearance of the girl he had just asked 
to be his bride. 

‘ What more can we do, Jem ? ’ he exclaimed. ‘ I feel as if I must 
go mad, if this continues longer.’ 

‘ It’s hard on us all, old man,’ replied Enfield ; ‘ harder still on 
you ; but it has to be borne. We must try again to-morrow — in the 
scrub. The sergeant is going to search the beach.’ 

‘ Why the beach ? ’ said the other with some surprise. 

‘ He thinks she may have got in the sea, though I don’t under- 
stand how — do you ?’ 

‘No! no!’ said Floss, impatiently, ‘she is somewhere in the 
bush. She must have wandered away from the gate after I left 
her, instead of entering the house, and so got lost.’ 

‘ But we have beaten the country so thoroughly,’ answered 
Enfield, ‘for miles round, that I cannot think it possible for her 
to have failed to hear or see us.’ 

‘ Ah, but we possibly were not near her during the first or even 
the second day, and after that she might well be too weak to 
attract our attention. Think what it must have been, alone in 
the dense scrub by one of those dismal swamps, probably hear- 
ing, perhaps even seeing us, and unable to call out ! ’ 

‘ It would be awful ; for God’s sake, don’t dwell on it, Gifford ! 
It ’s bad enough without allowing one’s imagination full swing.’ 

Floss made no answer, and after lingering a few minutes more 
he turned and went his own way. He had no desire for rest, but 
excessive fatigue overcame him, and this night he made no attempt 
to leave the station. For some hours he wandered about in an 
aimless, fitful manner in the immediate vicinity of the house, and 
then, retiring to his room, sank into a disturbed slumber which 
lasted until daylight. 

Miss Grantley had in a great measure recovered her wonted 
composure. 

‘ I shall never like Australia, again, Maria,’ she said, ‘after such 
a dreadful tragedy as this, for we shall never see poor Joan any 
more. We know she is not at any of the stations or farms round, 
and, if out in that awful bush, why, any of us poor women would 
die of fright the first night — that is certain.’ Past weeping now, 
her niece could only sigh. 

‘I am sure I should, aunt ; but we don’t know that Joan did get 
lost. Oh I I wonder if we shall ever know what has become 
of her ! ’ 

‘ I don’t believe she did,’ said Miss Grantley. ‘ My firm con- 
viction is that there has been foul play.’ 

‘Oh, aunt !’ ejaculated Mrs. Enfield, horror-stricken, ‘don’t say 
that ; who would be likely to touch the poor girl ? ’ 

‘That I cannot say ; perhaps the blacks or some of the whites 
we little think of. There have been cases before of women being 


202 


PAVING THE WAY 


carried off by both kinds of horrid wretches and afterwards mur- 
dered. Of course, your husband would call this nonsense, as all 
men do when we think of things that never strike them ; but I 
can’t sit down quietly like some people and have no ideas at all. 
Oh dear ! oh dear ! I do wish Roland had been here,’ and Aunt 
Arabella sank into her chair and wept copiously. 

The fourth day broke cold and wet, but once more the search 
party started on their melancholy quest. Their numbers were 
much thinned now, for many had given it up as utterly hopeless. 
A few with stern, resolute faces rode all day long, often watching 
where the great eagle-hawks and crows rose from, fearing there 
to find all that remained of the lost one. But Australia’s winged 
scavengers led them to nothing more than a slaughtered kangaroo, 
sheep, or opossum. As each tired horseman returned home at 
night, it was with the settled conviction that everything possible 
had been done to save the unfortunate girl ; and so thorough had 
been the search that few believed she had ever entered the scrub 
at all. Their suspicions pointed to a dark deed done by some one 
yet to be discovered. 

‘ Have you anything to communicate. Sergeant Wash, or has 
your day resulted, like ours, in no discovery.?’ said Enfield. 

‘ Absolutely nothing,’ replied that worthy, dejectedly ; ‘ and, as I 
have received information calling me to the other side of the 
district, I must discontinue my efforts for the present. Perhaps 
when I return some clew may have been found, or may have de- 
veloped itself, as is so often the case, though we are apt to claim 
the credit of finding it ourselves. The whole district, indeed the 
colony, is roused by such a painful occurrence, and it may, there- 
fore, be cleared up at any moment in the most unexpected way.’ 

‘ But you do not think she can be alive ?’ 

‘ No,’ replied the sergeant; ‘I fear that is beyond the pale of 
possibility. Before I go, I desire to ask Mr. Giford a few ques- 
tions, and, as you are a magistrate, please be present ; in good 
time here he comes.’ 

When several remarks had passed, the officer said — 

‘ How long did it take you, Mr. Gifford, to ride from here to 
Talkie last Thursday night, after you left Miss Joan?’ 

Floss started, but, steadying himself, replied — 

‘About two hours, I think, or a trifle less.’ 

‘ Why were you so long going twelve miles ?’ 

‘I hardly know ; at first I rode hard, then pulled up to a‘ walk 
or a slow trot and began thinking about her,’ and his voice shook. 

‘ Any other reason ? ’ asked the trooper. 

‘ Yes, I turned on the beach at the Gap, but the tide was so high 
I could only get along slowly. But why the devil do you make 
these inquiries ?’ demanded the angry young man fiercely. ‘ Good 
God ! you don’t suspect me ? ’ 

‘ My duty compels me,’ was the stern answer, ‘ to endeavour to 
clear up every act of any person known to have been last in the 


DARK SUSPICIONS 


203 


company of the missing lady, so far as we can. I gather that you 
were the last person to see her. It becomes you, therefore, to 
relate everything you did between leaving the Creek and arriving 
at Talkie.’ 

‘ There is absolutely nothing further to relate or explain. You 
are in possession of everything without reservation or evasion.’ 

‘Very well, Mr. Gifford, I wish to ask no more questions at pre- 
sent,’ and the officer left the room. 

‘ Enfield, as an old friend, for God’s sake tell me, what does he 
suspect me of doing?’ 

‘ Before your statement he thought the only way she could have 
left the place was on your horse,’ the other replied reluctantly. 
‘ I don’t know that he thinks so now.’ 

‘ I take her away? Would to heaven I had — then she would 
be alive now. But I must be mad to say so, for the thought never 
entered my head ; for not a hair of hers would I have injured to 
save my soul, and not even for love of me would she have gone. 
Why do you look like that? Is it possible he thinks that I murdered 
her — perhaps worse? James Enfield, tell me that you believe no 
word of this diabolical suggestion.’ 

‘ As God is my witness, old friend, I do not doubt you,’ fervently 
said the other. 

‘ I knew it could not be that my old chum had lent himself to 
such a damnable slander ; but how shall I clear myself of the vile 
web of suspicion cast round me ? My darling, your fate is almost 
to be preferred to mine ! By God, Enfield, this mystery must be 
solved ; now I realise that I am suspected, I begin to suspect 
others. There are plenty of bad characters in the ranges j can 
they have carried her off?’ 

‘ Not in the least likely,’ answered Enfield. ‘You left her at the 
gate ; we were awake in the house and must have heard if any- 
thing of the kind had been attempted, as she would certainly have 
called out or run into the house. No, in my opinion the theory 
of foul play must fall to the ground, unless it took place away from 
the gate.’ 

‘ I believe I shall go mad if this continues,’ said Gifford ; ‘ I am 
so dazed and bewildered I cannot think the matter out. Good- 
night ; it is vain for me to dream of sleep ; I shall go and look for 
her. Since searching by day is useless, I ’ll try the night once 
more.’ 

Enfield’s eyes followed him with a look of infinite pity. ‘Poor 
chap,’ said he, ‘ he has enough to bear, in all conscience, without 
the sergeant’s suspicions.’ 


204 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

VENUS VICTRIX 

What of Roland Grantley meanwhile ? On the evening of his 
sister’s disappearance he is in the same hut where he and Darkie 
sat when they arranged the details of the latter’s flight. There is 
scarcely any light in the room, and the young squatter sits on a 
roughly made chair in gloomy silence, which is now becoming 
habitual to him. The dreamy eyes, always a remarkable feature, 
are now more dreamy than ever, but the greatest change is in the 
once clear, open brow. Deep lines are beginning to show, the 
result of continual brooding over his short-lived happiness. His 
thoughts appear to be ever dwelling upon his own woes, and it is 
indeed so. As he rides over the plains and hills and through the 
woodlands of the run, which is his daily occupation, or tosses on 
the rude couch where once he slept so soundly, his meditations 
always carry him back to his lost love. At first, after leaving 
Encounter Bay, he sternly resolved to cast it all away from him 
by assiduous attention to business. Impatient and angry with 
himself for a weakness he scorned, yet could not conquer, for 
weeks he contended against it. 

‘Forget her 1 Yes, since she has forgotten and forsaken me,’ 
he thought, ‘ I certainly will.’ 

The night was the worst to bear. In the daytime, by violent 
and continuous exercise, he found some degree of peace, and often 
prolonged his rides far into the darkness ; and then, loth to trust 
himself to that restless bed for so many weary hours, he walked 
about the station until utter weariness compelled him to desist. 
When he slept she always seemed there, with the mournful look of 
reproach she wore on her face, when he told her she could never 
be his bride. Or, if he did not see herj worse still was the never- 
ceasing consciousness of her loss. Yet he did not repent and 
reconcile himself to the inevitable. No; some peace and con- 
solation might ultimately have come from such a mood ; but his 
state of mind was rather one of fierce, determined resistance and 
refusal to accept his defeat as final. 

‘ Her love will be too strong for her— I shall win her yet,’ he 
muttered, ‘ and gratify at once my passion and revenge.’ 

To accomplish that would be something; but he rarely ceased 
to feel that, since she had become a wife, she had not the same 
charm for him, and he ground his teeth at the thought. 

As he sat thus, a sound of cantering hoofs approaching caught 
his ear. ‘ The post at last,’ he said, as he opened the door and 
walked out to meet the rider. 

‘ Only a light bag for you, Mr. Grantley. I ’ll stay to-night, if 




He gazed at the letter until his eyes grew dim. 


p. 206 








VENUS VICTRIX 


205 

you don't mind, as it is late, and then can take on anything you 
have for me in the morning.' 

‘ All right ; they will make you comfortable in the kitchen,’ was 
the brief reply, as Roland carried his mail in. 

There were several papers, a circular, which he cast aside im- 
patiently, and two letters, one in the handwriting he would never 
forget. He gazed at the letter until his eyes grew dim ; then felt 
it, as if he expected to find something inside. It seemed as if 
there were a soft, yielding substance within, and, feeling that, he 
tore the paper gently apart, opened the enclosure, and a lock of 
dark hair twined, as he thought, lovingly about his fingers. 

On the paper a few lines were written, indistinctly, and with 
many words scored out, as if the writer doubted what to say. 
They ran : 

* Perhaps I am doing wrong, but, when we were parting, I promised to 
send you a lock of my hair. I cut it off while I was free, so that I surely 
wrong no one in sending it. It might be better to break this promise, but 
I never broke one to you before, and cannot do it now. Farewell for 
ever. Petrel.’ 

‘ No, not for ever,’ he vowed. ‘ I will take you in my arms once 
more, and learn then if I must abandon all hope. I will start to- 
morrow ; the Star will do the journey in less than a week. Now, 
what says my accommodating correspondent at Encounter Bay ?’ 
he added, taking up the other letter. 

‘ Dear Mr. Grantley, — She is living at Melbourne, in Rock Street, 
No. 10. He is at the diggings. She would never forgive me if she knew 
I told you, but I can’t refuse you anything. Hoping to see you here soon, 

‘ Lizzie.’ 

‘That settles it. I now know the address and that she is alone; 
but, by heaven, if he is with her, I will learn my fate none the less ; 
and if she is willing, not all the marriage-rites or husbands on 
earth shall keep her from me.’ 

The night was over at length, and Roland rose weary, but eager 
to be in motion. 

Always quick and decisive when a determination had been 
arrived at, he rapidly made the necessary preparations for his 
departure. He told the working overseer that he had received 
important letters requiring his immediate presence in Melbourne, 
but that he would certainly be back in a little over a fortnight ; 
and it satisfied not only that functionary but the other employes 
that the master was called away by urgent private business. 

It might be that the rich men of the other side wanted to buy 
the run, or possibly the boss was on the look-out for a good thing 
himself. 

‘ He’s not been the same man,’ said the cook, ‘since he came 
down this time. Too soft-hearted, maybe, and can’t forget being 


2o6 


PAVING THE WAY 


took up for that nigger business, though why a man should bother 
about shooting a yard-full of them devils, I don’t know ! ’ 

‘You bet it’s not the shooting,’ said another sage; ‘it’s being 
put in quod that his sort don’t like.’ 

‘ Well, mate,’ replied the cook, with a wink, ‘ you know it takes 
time to get accustomed to that sort of thing and feel at home 
like.’ 

‘ Stow your jaw,’ said the other ; ‘ we are on the square now, 
and had best keep all that to ourselves. Here comes the boss.’ 

In the afternoon Roland mounted the Star and, leading another 
horse that carried his pack, rode off with the intention of reaching a 
station thirty miles distant that night. We will not follow him on 
the journey, but will anticipate his arrival in the straggling town- 
ship that has since well earned the title of Queen of the South. 
He left his horses in the country and availed himself of a mail- 
coach for the last twenty miles. Late at night it rolled into Mel- 
bourne, and drew up at the post-office with the usual imposing 
dash, leading the uninitiated to believe that her Majesty’s mail 
always traverses the colony at tremendous speed. 

Early in the morning our hero left his hotel on his evil quest. 
Rock Street was soon found, a straggling thoroughfare continuing 
out on to the open country until it was lost in permanent bush. 
A loquacious costermonger told him that the street ended at the 
cross-roads, and the houses were not numbered. 

‘No. lo? How could there be such a building? Anyhow, he 
had never heard of it in that part. Well, then, look for it yourself,’ 
and in great dudgeon the seller of bad fruit trundled his barrow 
off, muttering something about the meanness of some people. 
Roland counted to the tenth house, and then entered a butcher’s 
shop. Remembering his experience with the costermonger, he 
ordered a pound of sausages. 

‘ Can you tell me,’ he asked, ‘ who lives in that cottage, faced 
with brick, over the way ? ’ 

‘ Mrs. Brown,’ was the answer. 

‘ Oh, no, not that one ! it was the tenth house on this side I 
meant.’ 

‘That’s empty,’ said the man of beef and mutton, briefly, as he 
turned to another customer. 

‘ Not much information for this d d pound of sausages which 

I don’t know what to do with. Am I to buy something useless 
of each tradesman to propitiate him, every time I ask a 
question ? ’ 

Luckily a postman came along. ‘ The beggar has nothing to 
sell,’ said Roland. ‘ He ’s my man ; ’ and, forcing himself to utter 
the detested name, he asked if a Mrs. Turnstile lived in the 
neighbourhood. 

‘ Yes, in that house with the green gate ; but she left about a 
week ago. No, he did not know where she went, but out of his 
beat, anyhow.’ 


VENUS VICTRIX 


207 


Flinging the sausages savagely at the green gate, Grantley 
betook himself back to breakfast. Was there ever such cursed 
bad luck.? But, as she only left so recently, it must be easy to 
trace her, he thought. 

Unable to rest, he was soon back in Rock Street, determined 
to inquire of the residents of the houses adjacent to her late home. 
At one was a girl with shapely arms, cleaning windows, and with 
her he began operations. 

He was a relative, he said, of the lady who lately occupied the 
next cottage, and had come unexpectedly to Melbourne to see her. 
He now understood she had moved, and he was unable to discover 
where. Could she, with the kindness for which her sex was pro- 
verbial, suggest anything to help a forlorn stranger who felt at a 
gredt loss ? 

By the time this artful little speech was over, it was evident the 
sympathies of the girl were enlisted. Help such a pleasant-spoken 
young man ? — that she would ! Unfortunately, she did not know 
the lady’s whereabouts, but a friend of hers was acquainted with 
the girl who lived with her, and, no doubt, would be informed of 
their present address. 

‘ I shall see her early this evening, when it 's my night out for a 
walk,’ she added significantly. 

‘At what time and where shall I meet you?’ asked the base 
deceiver. 

These preliminaries were promptly settled, and, with many 
backward glances as he walked away, the damsel pursued her 
avocation. What was to be done now ? Surely something until 
the time came when he was to meet the expectant charmer. 
There was a grocer’s shop round the corner j he would inquire 
there. 

‘ O yes ! ’ said the shopman, ‘ we know the lady in question. 
Here is a parcel to be sent to her in Grey Street, but there is no 
number or other direction.’ 

Here was a clew at last, and obviously a cab was the best means 
of following it up. 

Hailing one, Roland gave instructions to drive to Grey Street, 
and then slowly from one end to the other. That done, he felt 
just about as near his object as before, and, when cabby requested 
further instructions, scarcely knew what to answer. He now 
began to experience that uncomfortable feeling that so frequently 
oppresses those engaged in pursuits the nature of which they have 
the strongest reasons for concealing — namely, that every one 
appeared to be watching him and regarding his proceedings with 
suspicion. 

Impatient and annoyed, he dismissed the grinning cabman with 
a fare that he might reasonably suppose would stop his propensity 
to chaff, but it did not. 

‘ Any other locality as I could drive you to, sir, as would suit 
you ? There ’s Yarra Bend, as I could recommend, where they 


208 


PAVING THE WAY 


keeps strait-waistcoats and takes in similar cases to yours, 
sir.’ 

This last Parthian shot considerably discomposed Grantley ; 
but, deeming that an altercation with the facetious Jehu would not 
assist him, he simply told him to go to the devil, and marched 
round the corner. Here were two shops, but at neither could he 
hear anything of her he sought. After strolling up and down for 
a while, he gave it up, and determined to wait until he met the 
maid of the shapely arms. 

His appointment with her was for late in the evening, but as 
dusk set in he could control his impatience no longer, and started 
off to Grey Street again. He had only gone a few yards along it 
when, in a little garden fronting a cottage, he saw the slight and 
perfect form he had come so far to seek. 

Another moment and he was beside her, drinking in the glad 
love-light that shone in those melting dark eyes. He grasped her 
hands, drew her into the house, and took her yielding form into 
his arms with a clasp that she was powerless to resist. 

‘ Come, my Pet,’ he whispered, ‘ I will take you far away from 
here. You are mine by all the ties of love ; break the vile chains 
that bind you. Come, love, come ! ’ 

She looked at his agitated face with a great pity. ‘ You must 
have suffered much, or you would not talk so wildly,’ she said. 

He almost flung her from him at the words. 

‘And is it to be in vain,’ he said, ‘that I follow you far, with a 
love that is ready to give up all for your sake ? Can you abandon 
nothing, not even the solitary home that the man they forced 
upon you has left you in ? ’ 

She staggered to his side, and, seizing his hand, sank upon her 
knees and murmured : 

‘ Oh, if you had but asked me this, even on the evening of that 
fatal day I but now, cannot you see how great would be my sin 
and yours ? Oh, think of my father ! ’ 

He pushed her hand away, and the old pride broke forth — 

‘ I forget my name and fame, my nearest and dearest, I blast my 
future, for my love ; and you can think only of the pitiful crew who 
have undone us both. Do you think I do not know my own 
power here alone with you? Do not start — you were never safer 
from violence in your mother’s arms than now — in your husband’s 
house. But burst the trammels that fetter and degrade you, for 
the wife who marries without love is, in my eyes, living in a 
degradation not far removed from that of the lowest street-walker 
that paces the city pavement to-night. Come to the man who 
loves you, and whom you love, and be my darling through life 
till death!’ 

She sank on a couch, and, with covered face, wept convulsively. 
Bending over her, his voice became soft and low — 

‘ Say but one word, and I will bear my little dove where none 
shall ever know the past, or why or whence we came.’ 


VENUS VICTRIX 


209 

Till late that evening he urged her, and left her at last 
triumphant. She could resist no longer ; she loved him, and 
to-morrow would fly with him, it mattered not where. How 
different life looked now to him 1 Both love and revenge would 
be his ; the laugh and jest he would repay by snatching her from 
them. He had felt humiliated by his defeat and loss ; but in the 
hour of victory he strode through the streets with the elated air 
of a conqueror. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

BAULKED 

The night passed in dreams of bliss and gratified revenge. 
Petrel would love and trust him with a perfect faith, and he would 
repay her by the fervency and depth of his affection and constancy. 
As for that clod who had presumed to come between him and his 
love, let him suffer — if that dull nature could — a fitting retribution. 

‘ It cannot be half the hell I have endured lately,’ he thought ; 
‘ but that is over, and in her arms I shall forget the past.’ 

During the morning he made all the necessary arrangements for 
their flight, and then passed the rest of the day in a fever of excite- 
ment and anxiety. The slow hours dragged out at last, and he stood 
at the cottage door ; a light shone in the front sitting-room, but 
he walked round to the back and, lifting a latch, stepped lightly 
in along the passage. ‘ Petrel 1 ’ he called, and a door opened. 
That was not the fair form he had come to seek, though it was a 
woman who stood there. With a gesture she motioned him into 
the room. Hope and triumph died out of his face, for there was 
that in hers that told him to nerve himself for a bitter disappoint- 
ment. 

‘ Where is Petrel ? ’ he demanded. 

‘ Beyond your reach, Mr. Grantley ; and I would that all those 
who, like you, try to step between man and wife were similarly 
treated. She left this morning at daybreak to join her husband.’ 

He drew himself up, though his pale face grew white with 
anguish. ‘ Is there no message ? Did she leave nothing for me ?’ 

‘ None — nothing,’ was the laconic answer. 

‘ Have some mercy,’ he urged ; ‘ what passed between you ? ’ 

‘ I will tell you this much. Last night, after you left her, she 
sought me in great distress, and said she must join her husband 
at once. I arranged for her how to go, and by this time she is 
with him and safe from you. Go, young man, repent, and thank 
God that you have been foiled.’ 

‘Repent, and thank God that I have lost her? why, heaven 

O 


210 


PAVING THE WAY 


without her would be worthless to me/ he answered scornfully. 
‘Yet I don’t blame you ; ’ and'^ passed out. 

Then his stern denouncer burst into tears of pity for the hand- 
some young stranger who had dared so much and travelled so 
far in pursuit of his lost love. 

Roland Grantley paced the streets for hours with a tempest of 
contending passions raging in his breast, one moment cursing 
Petrel as the basest of deceivers, and the next bitterly reproach- 
ing himself for ever letting her out of his sight. 

‘I might have known/ he said, ‘that, with time for reflection 
and that she-dragon to assist her, she would give me the slip. It 
is only when I am present she forgets her people and the ties 
that bind her to them. Now I am indeed fooled, outwitted in 
the hour of my triumph. Dolt ! to have the dearest object of my 
life within my grasp, and then allow it to elude me ! I will not 
bear this hell of self-torture alone, in a city like this : there are 
those who are ever willing to console us for the sorrows inflicted 
by their sisters. I ’ll quaff the sparkling bowl and listen to the 
jest and song : better anything than remembrance.’ 

A week later our hero with bitter self-reproach took his seat in 
the coach on his homeward journey. He had compressed into 
those few days a considerable knowledge of the life that dis- 
sipated young men lead, and found it beneath contempt. For a 
brief period he had thought less of Petrel, and, as to think was to 
suffer, he suffered less ; but the reaction came. 

‘ What,’ he asked himself, ‘ were those vile creatures compared 
to her innocent loveliness ? Accept this riotous animalism for the 
rapture he had missed, and hope to be comforted and consoled ? 
No ; ’ and he turned from it in despairing disgust. ‘ Better go back 
to the solitary life in the bush, and eat his heart away.’ Before 
starting, he determined to go once more to the cottage, where 
he had seen her last. Possibly she might be there ; how, or 
why, did not occur to him, for he had never doubted the tale 
told by that hateful, exultant woman, of her having gone to her 
husband. 

The house was empty, with a notice up stating it was to let, 
inquiries to be made at the shop round the corner. There he 
was informed the late tenants had hurriedly left for the country, 
a week’s rent having been paid in advance to cancel the agree- 
ment. The reason assigned for leaving was that the lady’s 
husband had sent for her. 

It was enough. He quite understood now that she had deter- 
mined to escape from him, and his delay gave her the oppor- 
tunity. The ‘ she-dragon ’ was of course ready to assist, and so 
he had been foiled. He chafed with impotent rage as he thought, 
not of Petrel’s action, but of his own folly in being so easily 
deceived. 

Now, on top of the coach, he had time to coolly review all. It 
seemed surprising that he could have passed twenty-four hours 


BAULKED 


2II 


without being once struck with the probability that some measures 
w'ould be taken to defeat his object. Petrel’s companion was a 
relative of her husband, and therefore certain to use every expe- 
dient and employ all her influence in his favour. Through this 
woman he had lost her once more ; but there was some consola- 
tion in the conviction that she loved him still. 

With all the energy of his nature he now longed to be back at 
work ; and when the mail journey was over, and he mounted the 
Star, with his face set homeward, he almost forgot his consuming 
grief. Riding steadily, with a true bushman’s judgment, so as to 
spare his horses, he kept going for long hours each day. Though 
he tired himself and the pack-horse also, the incomparable Star 
never showed a symptom of fatigue. With his springy stride, 
keeping the led animal at a jog-trot, he covered the ground as 
fast at the close as at the beginning of the journey. 

When the station was reached, whatever the rider might feel, 
the steeds showed their appreciation of home, the Star waiting 
with the gentle, patient manner of the favourite horse until the 
bridle was removed from his bended head and Roland had 
caressingly rubbed his ears, when he trotted off to join the mob 
and hear the news. 

From the eagerness with which animals rejoin their companions 
after a long absence, it is evident that not only is there affection 
subsisting between them, but also mutual understanding, and 
probably some means of communication also. Who that has 
travelled long journeys with cattle has failed to observe one or 
two deeply attached couples among them? It might be a pair of 
bullocks, or one of either sex, or even two cows, not even related 
in any way : yet, somehow, a spontaneous affection has sprung up 
between them passing the love of David and Jonathan. Day by 
day these two walk side by side, and, when camping-time comes, 
lie down together. If by any chance they are separated, their 
distress is marked by piteous lowing, till the happy meeting 
comes, when there is much mutual licking and other caresses. 
Such deep love among the brutes is well known to drovers. It 
is most marked in the case of twins, which not infrequently are 
so attached to each other that they cannot bear to be separated 
for a moment. 

The Star did not seem to have a predilection for any one 
horse in particular ; his affections seemed to be comprehensive 
enough to take in the whole station-mob. There is no doubt 
that he was the acknowledged leader, gentle in his sway, but 
suffering no liberties to be taken with him. Leaving him to re- 
sume his reign, therefore, we will follow his master into the 
dwelling. 

There is no one at home but the cook, but he informs ‘the 
boss’ that on the whole everything has been going on well. 
Black Bob had indeed lost his sheep once, but most of them 
were recovered by the overseer the same day. A lot were missing 


212 


PAVING THE WAY 


now out of another flock at the Red Lake, and all hands were 
after them ; that was why he was alone. 

‘ D n the shepherds,’ said Grantley savagely ; ‘ they are the 

curse of a squatter’s life. I never come back but there is the 
same tale to hear. Bring me my letters.’ 

Apparently they did not please him either, as one after the 
other they were glanced through and cast aside. 

‘ Now we will see what Enfield has to say about Encounter Bay 
matters,’ he muttered to himself, little dreaming of the thunder- 
bolt hanging over his head. 

The letter was not long. It briefly stated that Joan had been 
lost for three days, how it had occurred, and what was being 
done to find her, and concluded by saying that they had not given 
up hope, but feared the worst. The note was dated twelve days 
since, so that either she was found or the worst had happened. 
He now saw the letter was unstamped, and therefore must have 
come by private messenger. In great agitation he questioned 
the cook, and learned that, within a week of his departure for 
Melbourne, a horseman arrived with the intelligence of his sister’s 
disappearance ; that he remained three days ; then, not knowing 
what to do, he had returned. 

With bitter self-reproach, Roland now thought of his selfish, 
wicked journey. 

‘ If I had remained at my post here, I should have been avail- 
able when sent for, though too late to save my poor sister in all 
human probability. What will they think of me when they know, 
as know they must, my errand to Melbourne?’ What a potent 
thing is love, either for evil or for good I Alas, in his case it 
seemed all for evil ! but then with him it was not only love, but 
passion. He knew that in the gratification of his passion he had 
cared little for the wrong he was prepared to inflict upon the 
woman whose trust he had betrayed. Yet against all others he 
would defend her to the last drop of his blood, if that were neces- 
sary. But what availed such idle reasoning ? Let him look at the 
naked truth. 

No evil threatened her, except, indeed, from himself; yet, 
regardless of other duties and claims, he journeyed long and far 
to induce her to break the most sacred ties and enter upon a life 
of shame with him. The bitterness of failure followed, and, as if 
that were not punishment enough, possibly another consequence 
was the loss of his favourite sister. Certainly he had debarred 
himself of the satisfaction of doing his utmost to save her. 

Weighing all the circumstances, he could not but feel there was 
cause for lasting shame in the occurrences of the last few weeks, 
and the only reparation in his power must be made by starting for 
Encounter Bay without delay. 

Accordingly, the morrow saw Roland again in the saddle — not 
now on the Star, as that noble steed had too recently been severely 
tried for his owner to so soon subject him to another hard journey. 


BAULKED 


213 


Three days fast riding brought him to the Creek as night fell. 
He left his horse at the gate so often mentioned, and walked in, 
opening the door for himself, for he saw Maria’s face at a window, 
and knew that she waited for him within. 

‘ Oh, Roily, come at last ! ’ To his sensitive ear the words con- 
veyed a world of reproach. 

‘ Before you blame me, say is she found or not ? ’ 

‘ No, not a sign, and now there can be no hope whatever. Some 
people maintain there has been foul play, otherwise she must have 
been seen or heard of. Jem will be so glad to talk to you about 
the matter. He doesn’t know what to think. Now let me show 
you to your room. You look dreadfully tired and worn.’ 

And, when she left him, she had a quiet cry in sheer pity of 
the suffering which was so apparent in the once clear, unruffled 
young face. 

Presently Enfield came in, and the two held a long and serious 
consultation. Roland was made acquainted with the whole of the 
circumstances surrounding the mystery. There was a protracted 
silence ; then the latter said — 

‘ Maria tells me that people suspect foul play. Whom does she 
mean, and what is your opinion ? ’ 

‘ I hardly like to repeat idle gossip,’ Enfield replied ; ‘ but you 
may as well hear it from me as from another. Probably Sergeant 
Wash gave rise to the suspicions, which now generally point at 
Gifford. As for me, since you inquire what I think, I cannot 
believe anything against my old friend so much to his prejudice. 
Besides, his whole conduct from the night she was missed seems 
to me to stamp him as an innocent man.’ 

‘ Is there any one else accused by the district wiseacres ?’ asked 
Grantley. 

‘ No particular individual ; but there has been some talk of the 
blacks, as well as of the whites living in the tiers and ranges, who 
are mostly cattle-stealers and men of indifferent character.’ 

‘ Put the aborigines out of the question,’ said Roland ; ‘ I feel 
confident they have had no hand in this. A few of the whites I 
would not trust, if an opportunity offered ; but how could this be, 
unless they found her wandering in the scrub ? It is absurd to 
suppose they took her from the gate ; they would never dare to do 
it ; so we will dismiss that idea as not only improbable but imprac- 
ticable. With reference to Floss’s statement, again, if he brought 
her back to the gate, why did she leave it ? and how, without 
leaving tracks that any halfiblind black fellow might run up ? But 
then you say the tracks could not be followed there. On the 
whole, however, I am not surprised at the conclusion of the ser- 
geant. It ’s lucky for Gifford that we have such faith in him ; had 
he been anything less than the friend he is, he would certainly be 
charged with murder.’ 

Enfield was silent for a while, then he said — 

‘ I have thought of it all as you now do, but one moment with 


214 


PAVING THE WAY 


Floss dissipated my doubts. I now believe she wandered away 
down to the lake and got in somehow.’ 

‘ Does he agree with you 1 ’ 

‘ No ; he steadfastly maintains she strolled away into the scrub 
after he left her, scarcely realising where she was going, and, be- 
coming bewildered, has perished in the bush. Night after night 
he went out making fires and coo-eeing.’ 

‘ It seems rather useless for me to search, when all have failed,’ 
replied Grantley ; ‘ but I will do my best. For the sake of us all, 
the matter ought to be cleared up, though we must relinquish all 
hope of ever seeing poor Joan alive again.’ 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

AT^ AT WORK AGAIN 

Day by day, after his conversation with Enfield, Roland prose- 
cuted an unceasing search for his lost sister with all the energy of his 
character. Always a favourite with the aborigines, and possessing 
great influence over them, he exerted himself successfully to induce 
them to make another and final examination of the surrounding 
country. Large rewards for the recovery of the missing girl, alive 
or dead, excited their ardour for a time; but as before, when they 
assembled without result at their camp, there soon arose murmurs 
of ‘ Muldarpie.’ 

When he approached, those cries became more pronounced and 
general, and it was evident they were too thoroughly impregnated 
with the idea that the evil one had taken his poor sister to search 
efficiently in future. The third morning verified this opinion; most 
of the men expostulated with him for desiring them to continue 
when the spirit they feared had taken the matter into his own 
hands, and the others sat stolidly in the wurlies or made their way 
back to the sea-shore. 

Gifford had joined him, and the two, seeing no more good service 
was to be obtained from their black allies, spent several days in 
beating the scrub. It was then that Roland first realised what a 
hopeless task it was to thoroughly examine the depths of the dense, 
and frequently all but impenetrable, mass of bushes. It seemed 
that hundreds, nay thousands, of the dead might lie undiscovered 
within a small radius of the hill on which he stood. While the 
poor wanderer was living, moving, and capable of answering shouts 
or signals, the difficulties were great; but they were incalculably 
increased now that life must be long extinct. 

He could not but feel the deepest admiration for the persistent 
determination Floss had evinced during the fruitless search. But 


ATt AT WORK AGAIN 


215 


a settled hopelessness was now apparent in him, and he offered no 
further suggestions, in marked contrast to his former conduct, when 
in rapid succession he had ever some new idea to carry out. 

At the end of their last day, as they were slowly returning to the 
station, Gifford suddenly said — 

‘You must have heard of the vile suspicion which attaches to 
me in the minds of many of the residents of this neighbourhood. 
I do not ask if you doubt me, for you could not have met me as 
you have, and ridden by my side day after day, had you done so.' 

‘Possibly I could not,' answered Grantley; ‘but there are men 
who would act the part for the very purpose of tracing the crime 
they suspected. I fancy Sergeant Wash is such a one. On second 
thoughts, I believe I should also, if once convinced of the guilt of 
my companion.' 

‘ I want you to tell me what to do,' said Gifford. ‘ Until now I 
would not leave the district, because doing so might give colour to 
the insinuations, but you may imagine how I hate the place, and 
long to be away.' 

‘ Go to the Tatiara,’ replied Grantley. ‘ I will acquaint Wash 
with your intention.' 

Floss winced. ‘ What! do you think he still suspects me, and is 
apprehensive that I may bolt ? ' 

‘ There is no doubt you are in that unfortunate position, and only 
those who know you best can disabuse their minds of the im- 
pression. Surely the mystery will be solved some day ; meantime, 
you cannot leave the country, at least for years, without adding to 
the distrust with which you are regarded.' 

‘ I will start for the Tatiara to-morrow,' said Gifford. ‘ Action 
of any kind is preferable to brooding here under the intolerable 
burden I have to bear. Find out from Sergeant Wash if I am at 
liberty to go ; I won 't risk arrest.’ 

That night, Grantley rode to the police-station on the Point, 
and found that the officer he was seeking was at home. 

‘ I have called,’ he said, ‘ in reference to the case of my lost sister.’ 

The sergeant looked grave. 

‘I wish, Mr. Grantley, I could help you; but, unless you are 
prepared to go further than your brother-in-law, I don’t see what I 
can do.' 

‘ To what do you refer ? ' 

‘ To my desire to arrest Floss Gifford, which Mr. Enfield opposes, 
both in his capacity of magistrate and relative of the lost lady.’ 

‘ If you think fit, you can arrest him without consulting either of 
us,’ said Roland. 

‘ I am perfectly aware of that; but, considering I have no evidence, 
I do not care to incur the responsibility with the relatives of the 
murdered girl against me.’ 

‘ Why do you make such a fearful charge, when you acknowledge 
there is no evidence?' 

‘ Because it is impossible to account in any other way for her 


2i6 


PAVING THE WAY 


disappearance. Ask yourself — is it likely that she would ever 
have left the gate, if brought back to it, to go wandering alone in a 
place of which she knew so little ? What could her object be ? ’ 

‘ I admit the force of your contention; but it is not always possible 
to account for what men and women will do, though it seems to me 
not improbable that she might have turned back to the log where 
Gifford says they were sitting, for something she had dropped or 
missed.’ 

‘ Then where were the tracks}? ’ asked Wash. ‘ I will swear she 
never went back there or near it.’ 

‘ But she possibly got lost in trying to find it,’ persisted Roland. 

‘ I again ask, where are the tracks ?’ said the policeman. 

‘ I am told that both the sheep and the rain obliterated all traces 
for some distance round the station,’ replied Grantley, ‘and the 
same cause would effect the same result on the two strips of country 
the flocks passed over in drawing away, one to the north and the 
other nearly south — maybe one of them right on her trail.’ 

‘ That is conceivable,’ said the sergeant, ‘ and, where the sheep 
' spread out so as to give a chance of tracking, the ground was very 
hard, and the rain undoubtedly would wash out the slight foot- 
prints of a girl; but, for all that, I feel sure we must have either 
found her, or traces of her, if she went in one direction or the other.’ 

‘ Then what is your solution ? ’ asked Roland. 

‘ That she was never taken back to the gate, but carried, probably 
in an insensible condition, to the horse, and so away to the sea. 
He certainly dismounted at the Gap; the rest can be imagined.’ 

‘ If I could believe anything so fiendish of Floss Gifford, he 
would scarcely need your kind offices ; but there must be more 
cogent reasons advanced than you have given before any man, 
much more an intimate friend, can be accused of so dark a crime.’ 

‘ As I have already intimated,’ replied the sergeant, ‘ I feel that 
I cannot act without the co-operation of the relatives. If you 
would denounce him, my course would be clear.’ 

‘ That is impossible,’ said the other, ‘ while we are confident he 
is guiltless. If you can bring any further evidence against him or 
any one else, do it. I am eager to avenge my poor sister, if wrong 
has been done her ; but let us have no false accusations to damn 
a man’s reputation and blight his life. I know enough of that sort 
of thing already. Better that the crime, if crime there be, should 
go for ever unpunished. There is another phase of the matter I 
wish to consult you about. Mr. Gifford, acting on my advice, 
desires to return to his station in the south-east ; I hope you see no 
objection ?’ 

‘ None whatever, now I have had this conversation with you,’ 
was the answer. ‘ I need not tell you that we shall carefully 
watch his movements, and, if he attempt to leave the colony, it will 
be awkward for him. For the present I prefer his being there 
rather than here.’ 

Grantley was on the point of asking the meaning of the last 


ATt AT WORK AGAIN 


217 


ambiguous phrase, but the trooper had turned away ; so, bidding 
him good-night, he mounted his horse and rode on to Talkie with 
an added gloom on his grave young brow. He had dearly loved 
Joan, and the peculiarly painful circumstances attending her dis- 
appearance still affected him deeply, though he was now aware 
that, even if he had not been absent in Melbourne, he would have 
been unable to reach the Creek in time to save her. It was there- 
fore mere weakness to reproach himself for being away when the 
messenger came, whatever censorious people might say. No, the 
design that Petrel should elope with him had failed for the pre- 
sent ; but so far was he from repenting of his endeavour to carry 
it into effect, that he meant to repeat the attempt on the earliest 
opportunity. 

The interview with the sergeant much troubled him. While 
not a brilliant officer, that functionary had the reputation of being 
a smart, clear-headed man. He had unravelled the tangles of 
more than one intricate case, and somehow he impressed Grantley 
with the idea that he knew, or suspected, more than he thought 
proper to divulge. 

‘ My God !’ thought the young squatter, ‘ what a life is mine with 
this sword of Damocles perpetually hanging over me, ready to fall 
any day on the return or apprehension of the absconder ; the only 
woman I shall ever love gone from me ; and now my dearest 
sister’s melancholy fate a mystery I almost dread to see solved ! 
One calamity has followed another, until I weary of this place, 
and must leave it to seek new scenes. I shall go to the far out- 
districts of New South Wales, and take up country on the Darling. 
Away from old familiar objects, I shall at least be less frequently 
reminded of so much that brings back painful recollections.’ 

Such reflections had often occupied him during the last few days. 
The Tatiara station was hateful ever since that well-remembered 
shooting fray, the subsequent flight of Darkie, and his own arrest. 
Talkie was still more so : he could move his eyes in no direction 
without being reminded of Petrel and his humiliation — for such he 
felt her loss to be. Day by day the feeling grew more bitter and 
his temper more morose. It was a living hell for him to pass over 
the very places where she used to meet and sit with him. The 
grand old headland that met his glance at every turn spoke only 
of her, and mutely seemed to ask why they were parted. Over its 
bold brow they had wandered more than over any other portion of 
the Bay, and each rock was known to him, many by some name 
given by her to remind him of some happy event or excursion. ^ * 

As he reined in his horse to gaze at it, he thought how im- 
portant a part it had played in his young and troubled life. First 
in the driving shipwreck, when the brief glimpse at its lofty crest 
created in the doomed wretches a dawn of hope. Then as he 
raced along the dismal beach, his aching eyes searching for its 
form in the sea-mist, he remembered yet the joy with which he 
first beheld that stern outline. 


2I8 


PAVING THE WAY 


Sweeter still was the place it filled in his life with Petrel. Later 
again, those gloomy recesses under the steep cliff had sheltered the 
fugitive whose capture might have brought him to an ignominious 
death. And to whom did he owe his escape from that deadly 
peril but to the heroic girl who dared the elements, who had risked 
her life and honour, for love of him ? How he had repaid her 
devotion was told in the story of their two lives, separate now and 
unhappy. O that he could but have forgotten his accursed pride of 
name and race, and flung the rich bribe of the old estate with all 
its honours aside, taking her in its stead who was worth more 
than all the world to him ! Thinking over all that these had cost 
him, it now seemed impossible that he should ever care to enter 
the home of his ancestors. 

‘ It is the price of her happiness,’ he murmured, ‘and mine. I 
can never look upon it without shame and remorse." 

He was now going to the woman to whose triumphant schemes 
he had surrendered himself. Should he tell her that her plotting 
had all been in vain, that she might look for another heir, for he 
would take neither lands nor title ? Why had he not taken that 
stand at first, his ultimatum being — ‘Either with Petrel or not 
at all’? 

Possibly his aunt’s love might have triumphed over her pride, 
and he might have gained both his bride and the estate. In truth, 
it was what he ought, in justice and honour to the girl to whom he 
was so deeply indebted, to have done ; but the opportunity had 
passed ; and, having lost so much, must he now lose all by fling- 
ing his uncle’s proffered gift in his aunt’s face? No, there was 
yet a chance of avenging himself upon his enemies, and above all 
on Miss Grantley, by inducing Petrel to elope with him, and install- 
ing her as his mistress in Grantley Hall. 

‘ How I should triumph over my aunt’s machinations and pride 
in saying, “You prevented her coming here as my wife, but in 
spite of you she has come ; how do you like the alternative ?” It 
would be a bitter insult to the proud spirit of my female relative, 
and therefore the sweeter salve to my le vengeful feelings.’ 

But to accomplish these purposes it was necessary that Sir 
Archibald should first throw off this mortal coil at an early date, or 
the chance of obtaining Petrel would be lost. ‘ I must sound the 
old lady as to my prospects of becoming a magnate of the glorious 
land whose motto ought to be, “ Grasp, rightfully if you can, but 
above all grasp,” never doubting that, when she annexes a terri- 
tory, it is in the interests of mankind at large, posterity in general, 
and the aboriginal inhabitants in particular. Away with dull care ! 
And now for my beloved aunt.’ 


ROLAND SURPRISES HIS AUNT 


219 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

ROLAND SURPRISES HIS AUNT 

Miss Grantley was expecting her nephew, and greeted him with 
much cordiality and some real feeling. The fate of Joan had 
softened her, and, as she spoke of the painful subject, the usually 
cold face worked, and presently she quite broke down. 

‘ Ah, Roland, I wish you could have been here ; you surely 
would have found her. Now it is too late, and we shall never see 
her again ! ’ 

What could he answer? It was simply a repetition of the 
reproach he had already addressed to himself and that Maria 
had uttered. 

‘ I expect others did all that I should have been capable of, 
aunt.’ 

‘ They tried,’ she whimpered ; ‘ but you have such influence with 
the natives and understand their language ; and either half we 
hear about their powers of tracking is gross exaggeration, or else 
you would have compelled them to find her, dead or alive.’ 

Then there was a pause while the lady collected herself. 

‘ I am convinced she was murdered,’ she presently said. 

^Good God, aunt, for what purpose?’ he blurted out in a sur- 
prised tone ; for here, where he least expected it, was another 
individual to indorse the sergeant’s opinion that there had been 
foul play. She did not reply for a moment, but he knew what her 
silence meant. Then she said — 

‘ Oh, Roland, that one of our race should have met such a fate, 
and that no retribution has been exacted ! ’ 

‘ Ay,’ he replied, through his set teeth, ‘ the retribution is to come 
for the wrong, if indeed wrong has been done.’ 

Startled at his stern, significant tone, she pursued the subject no 
further. 

‘ Has this made any alteration in your plans ?’ he asked. 

‘ No, I shall stay here for some time longer in any case. Possibly 
my brother, when all is settled, may want to see me — and you too,’ 
she added. 

‘ How is the old boy ? It’s ill waiting for dead men’s shoes, and 
1 intend acting as though I had no expectations from my uncle.’ 

‘ In what way ?’ she inquired. 

‘By leaving this neighbourhood, and indeed the colony, and 
taking up runs on the Darling. Larger tracts of country, of a 
better quality, can be obtained there, giving one more scope than 
is possible here.’ 

‘Have patience,’ she said imploringly. ‘ I have not yet received 


220 


PAVING THE WAY 


a reply to my last letter. When it comes, it will doubtless contain 
the intelligence that Sir Archibald has appointed you his heir — one 
of the most enviable positions for a young man in England.^ 

‘ I presume, then,’ he observed bitterly, ‘ your last conveyed the 
information that I am now eligible, or, to put it plainly, that what 
were considered disqualifications on my part are removed.’ 

‘ I forgive you your satire, nephew, and am sorry that you do 
not yet recognise what a bright future is before you waiting to be 
grasped. Only think : instead of the arid, desolate plains of Cen- 
tral Australia, a magnificent estate in one of the most picturesque 
counties in England ; instead of toiling long years for a modest 
competence, which may never be attained, a large fortune in a few 
years, with a handsome allowance at once ; and, in lieu of a soli- 
tary life among rough, rude men and savages, all the alluring 
pleasures of polite society, with a beautiful girl for a wife.’ 

‘ The views, or rather the contrasts, are striking, when portrayed 
by the hand of the magician who has worked the change — or shall 
we say the miracle ? he said scornfully ; ‘ but you remember the 
old proverb, “ One man ” (or woman in this case) “ can take a 
horse to the water, but twenty can’t make him drink.” I am the 
unappreciative animal in question, and may decline the dainty dish 
set before me — even the proffered bride, whose beauty is guaran- 
teed by no less an authority than yourself.’ 

‘ Roland Grantley,’ she exclaimed haughtily, ‘ I have loved you 
more than any other being in heaven or on earth, and have 
laboured to make you one of the most envied men in England. 
Do you think such affection and service merit nothing better than 
scornful jests ?’ 

‘ And do you think,’ he answered with equal pride, ‘ that I am 
made of the stuff that will suffer the interference of any one in 
guiding, moulding, or possibly warping my life and destiny? I 
will mould my own future, and carve out my own destiny. In a 
land like this there are big prizes for the bold, the energetic, the 
enterprising.’ 

She looked with admiration at the young face which had of late 
grown so much older, sterner, and more self-reliant, and her eyes 
softened. 

‘ I will help you, Roland, in spite of yourself ; and when you are 
the lord of Grantley Hall and a man of mark in England, it will be 
my pride to think I shall have had some part in it.’ 

‘ I give you fair warning,’ he coldly said ; ‘ hope nothing, expect 
nothing froni me, lest you suffer a grievous disappointment. Stay 
in this district I will not— ask yourself if the associations are so 
pleasant as to offer any inducements ; and, when I do leave, it is 
for years, perhaps for ever.’ 

‘You are hard as steel,’ she answered, ‘and as unyielding. 
Mine must be a lonely life ; will you do nothing to lighten it?’ 

‘ And what must mine be ? and who has done most to make it 
what it is ? ’ he retorted. ‘ I am little beyond boyhood, but woman 


ROLAND SURPRISES HIS AUNT 


221 


has ceased to delight me, and I well know that I have loved my 
last. You perhaps scarcely realised what you were doing; but 
learn now that it was no mere boy-and-girl love that you strove 
to blight, but on my part at least the passion of a strong nature, the 
affection of a life. I shall never forget — or forgive. You have 
claimed my attachment and gratitude, and under other circum- 
stances you would have had a right to them ; but think what I owe 
to her, and then ask yourself with bitter shame how the debt has 
been paid by us both.^ 

The words seemed to rush from him in the vehemence of his 
passion, and in silent awe, with downcast eyes, she stood before 
him. For a nioment he stayed for a reply, then turned and passed 
out into the night, his steps following the old familiar path down 
to the sea-beach where they used to meet. For a while he lingered 
there, then wandered on over the Bluff, re-visiting every spot where 
they two had been, recalling every loving word and caress of hers, 
and storing them up to feed his remorse and regret upon, when far 
away. 

‘It’s for the last time,’ he said, half in excuse for the weakness ; 
‘ I shall soon be far away ; let me carry with me all the memories 
I can, though they sting me like scorpions.’ 

As morning broke, he found his way back to the house, and his 
aunt heard him enter his room. 

When he left, she had sunk into a seat in an uncontrollable 
burst of tears. In justice to her it must be admitted she had never 
dreamt of the depth of his love for Petrel, or that he would take 
it thus. Poor fellow, she was terribly sorry for him ; but, after all, 
what else could have been done ? The honour, the very existence, 
of the Grantley family was at stake. She feared he would feel it 
during his life ; but still he might marry and raise up children to 
perpetuate the old name, and that was the main thing. Having 
arrived at this conclusion after reviewing past events in the privacy 
of her own chamber. Aunt Arabella drew on her nightcap and 
placidly fell asleep, to dream that her nephew had taken possession 
of the hereditary estates amidst the universal rejoicings of all Eng- 
land, and had brought home one of the Princesses of the Blood as 
his bride. Then, with the surprising celerity with which things 
are managed in dreamland, numbers of heirs were born, she her- 
self occupying the onerous position of head-nurse or lady-superin- 
tendent of the nursery, and in a very short time wishing that 
either they or she had never been born into this world of woe. 
The perpetuation of the family became established beyond all 
question, as the prolific princess kept intrusting infant Grantleys 
to her care at a rate that was most embarrassing. It was in vain 
to expostulate with her or entreat her to relax her efforts ; she de- 
clared that, when she married. Miss Grantley had so impressed 
upon her the paramount duty of giving heirs to the great house she 
was entering, that her whole being had become ifnbued with the 
idea and it was impossible to divest herself of it. If the thing were 


222 


PAVING THE WAY 


being overdone, the responsibility rested with the lady-superinten- 
dent of the nursery. In utter despair Miss Grantley was contem- 
plating an immediate departure to the centre of Australia — where 
she heard there lived a tribe of aborigines who understood the art 
of checking the over-production of infants — with a view to acquir- 
ing a knowledge that circumstances had rendered indispensable, 
when she awoke, inexpressibly relieved to find that her house was 
not threatened with any new evil, and that the visit into the in- 
terior might safely be deferred. 

As for poor Roland, he had not slept at all, as might be expected 
after his self-indulgence in visiting nearly every spot that called 
back painful memories. Nevertheless, he met his aunt at the 
breakfast- table with the utmost calmness, and by tacit consent no 
allusion was again made to the topics of the previous evening^s 
conversation. 

There were many matters connected with the Talkie property to 
arrange, now that it was known he intended to leave the district. 
Miss Grantley would continue to live on in the house, and most of 
the land could be sold or leased. Thus it was definitely settled 
that in a few months he should depait for the south-east to con- 
clude his business there, prior to finally leaving for the Darling. 

Grantley’s spirits rose at the prospect of a change from the dull 
routine of daily duties. He was a true pioneer at this stage of his 
life, and languished in an atmosphere where civilisation had taken 
root. Brave, energetic, and enterprising, under even the happiest 
domestic circumstances he would have found a difficulty in sub- 
duing his desire to explore new regions and encounter perils in 
pursuance of the squatter’s vocation. Now, with the memory of 
his thwarted love fresh upon him, he was impatient to be away 
from every human being who knew his story. Months passed 
away, however, and he still remained at Talkie, much to the 
surprise, of his aunt. She could not understand how, after that 
vehement burst of passion, he could reconcile himself to stay 
so long. 

In the first place, he had heard rumours of a murder having 
been committed at a lonely hut in the bush about the time of the 
disappearance of Joan, and, not considering it wise to acquaint 
the police with the supposed clew, he set himself to follow it up. 
Eventually it became evident that, if a dark deed had been done, it 
was weeks prior to the loss of his sister. His interest immediately 
dropped, and he placed his information in the hands of Sergeant 
Wash. 

Shortly after this a human skeleton was discovered in a remote 
corner of the district, only superficially covered with dust and 
leaves ; and a report quicldy spread that these were the remains 
of the lost girl. An examination proved, however, that they were 
the remains of a big man, who must have died years before. Sur- 
mise then fixed upon the lost whaler, Salter, and his fate was 
thought to be thus solved ; but presently some astute individual 


ROLAND SURPRISES HIS AUNT 


223 


bethought him that Salter had lost a finger, whereas in that respect 
the skeleton was intact. 

Riding back from the interment of this unfortunate, in company 
with Sergeant Wash, Grantley said — 

‘ Do you not, as an experienced police-officer, consider it strange 
that within the radius of a few miles two persons should have been 
lost, leaving no signs behind — Salter and my sister.?’ 

‘it is singular,’ replied the sergeant, ‘and points to the possi- 
bility that they got into the soft, absorbent swamps in attempting 
to cross, and were swallowed up.’ 

‘ That may be the case, or partially so,’ said Roland, ‘ a weak 
and worn-out person might easily so succumb; but how about the 
tracks not being found ? ’ 

‘There are many ways of accounting for failure there. You 
know as well as I do that not all the blacks can track, apart from 
the fact that we often hurry them, and that they frequently become 
disgusted and give it up. They have also superstitions about 
certain places, which they therefore avoid.’ 

‘ I am aware of all that,’ returned Grantley, ‘ but I had an object 
in ascertaining your views. It is this: Was there any difficulty 
with the natives in the search after my sister ? ’ 

‘ For the first days none,’ said the trooper; ‘but you must remem- 
ber no tracks were seen away from the vicinity of the station, so 
that in a general search they could easily avoid any place they 
wished, without attracting attention.’ 

‘Do you think, looking back after this lapse of time, that any 
disposition of the kind was shown by them ? ’ Roland asked. 

‘ I see to what your questions tend,’ said the officer, ‘ and the 
same fears have occurred to me — namely, that a portion of country, 
however small, was not examined by the blacks ; but so far as 
came within my observation and knowledge, no locality was omitted. 
As the search progressed with no prospect of success, they came 
to their usual conclusion, when they can’t account for anything 
otherwise, that “ Muldarpie ” was at the bottom of it.’ 

‘ Was there any difference in Salter’s case ? ’ 

‘ Decidedly ; we took up his tracks without difficulty and followed 
them with more or less trouble for nearly two days. He appeared 
to have wandered in an aimless way from the time he left the 
native pad. The latter part of the time he doubtless suffered from 
delirium tre^nens ^ as his clothes were scattered about. Ultimately 
we traced him to the white stone you have heard so much of, 
beyond which the trackers seemed to me reluctant to proceed. 
Night was falling, and we deferred further work until morning, 
when rain unfortunately set in, and then it required smart fello#|ig 
to run a man’s track in that country. I thought there were traces 
leading into the tiers, but the blacks would not admit this. They 
persistently averred that every sign ended at the stone, and that 
“ Muldarpie” was responsible for the rest.’ 

‘ And he has never been found ? ’ asked Roland. 


224 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ No,’ said Wash. ‘Had his tracks been lost in the swamps, I 
should have thought it likely he had perished in them ; as they 
were followed to the ranges, I believe he met his fate there.’ 

‘ And do you suppose his remains will be discovered some day ? ’ 

‘ Scarcely likely,’ replied the sergeant, ‘ as that country is swept 
by bush fires every two or three years.’ 

Roland started. ‘ Strange to say, I never thought of that ; the 
same thing applies to my poor sister’s remains, and we may never 
know what has become of her.’ 

‘ I hardly think it does apply to her case,’ said the officer dryly; 
‘ but, even if she does lie in the scrub, the part where she was lost 
is not nearly so subject to fires as the higher lands.’ 

‘ It is evident,’ returned Roland, ‘you still adhere to your opinion 
that we must look elsewhere to find the solution of the mystery.’ 

‘ I have the more reason to hold it, since your researches, con- 
ducted with consummate skill, have resulted in finding no trace of 
her in the bush. You told me you spent days watching where 
eagle-hawks alighted : I thought it a splendid idea, and one I 
ought to have adopted myself. What came of it ? ’ 

‘ The discovery of three dead sheep and one bogged cow,’ said 
Grantley, ‘as the result of nearly four days’ observation. It was 
gruesome work watching the great birds hovering and wheeling 
round and round long before they settled, and then riding up with 
one’s heart in one’s mouth fearing the worst. The first I noticed 
went down at the edge of the Black Swamp, about seven or eight 
miles from the Creek station, in thick scrub. As I rode up to the 
place, two eagles and a lot of crows got up and half a dozen wild 
dogs slunk away. There were the remains of a sheep, and, as the 
stench was awful, I did not linger a moment ; but I thought, from 
the marks about, what a gallant fight for life the poor brute had 
made.’ 

‘ And the others ?’ asked the officer with some interest. 

‘ Much the same, but without so much horrid smell, which was 
accounted for by the fact that one had been dead longer and the 
other was nearly fresh. The cow was sunk nearly up to her back 
in mud beyond the possibility of getting her out, and, as the crows 
had been tearing at her, I ended her misery with a bullet, though 
she was not my property.’ 

‘ I won’t apprehend you for that kind of cattle-duffing,’ said the 
sergeant. ‘ And so your efforts ended without any other discovery ? ’ 

‘ Yes,’ replied Grantley ; ‘ my aerial trackers persisted in descend- 
ing to the same places, and I had to give it up, with the conviction 
that, if there had been any more dead creatures anywhere near I 
must have found them.’ ’ 

‘More proof still that the scmb does not hold the secret’ 
answered the sergeant. ’ 


FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW 


225 


CHAPTER XL 

FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW 

Refusing to acknowledge defeat, Roland Grantley for some days 
longer rode over and through that broad, desolate scrub and 
swamp, sometimes accompanied by a black-fellow or policeman, 
more frequently alone, knowing all the time that that of which he 
was in search might be within a few feet and yet be passed unseen. 
With stern and dogged persistency he forced his way through the 
densest thickets and the closest bush, yet his lost sister he never 
found. 

Over high, rocky hills, along the margin of lakes, rivers, and 
swamps, under precipices and cliffs, on the level sea-beach, among 
the weeds and ddbris that was tossed in wild confusion on much of 
that rugged coast, he sought with indomitable perseverance. Ah ! 
if he could but have known how near he once was to a discovery that 
would have set all doubts at rest and saved the anxiety of years! 
Had he been taking part in the old game which children play, he 
would have been told that he was ‘ hot, hotter, burning.’ It was 
clearly not for him to solve the mystery of the fate of poor Joan. 
Proud of his bush-lore, and justly so, he mistook signs that a novice 
might have understood and acted upon. Weary and dispirited, 
he said to Enfield at last — 

‘ No man can be sure that the secret is not hidden in that thick 
scrub, but I am inclined to believe it is not above ground. I can 
think of nothing more to be done ; we must trust now to time and 
chance. I shall return to the south-east next week, and hope to 
start for the Darling in a few months.’ 

‘ Oh, brother, why must you seek more dangers ? ’ sighed poor 
Maria ; ‘there are only two of us left now.’ 

‘ If you try to divert me from my purpose,’ said he, with an 
assumption of gaiety, ‘ I ’ll persuade your beloved Jem to accom- 
pany me. He must be pining to traverse once more the wilderness, 
with all its delights, after sitting so long under his own vine and 
fig-tree. How long is it since you perpetrated matrimony? It 
appears ages to me, but I daresay to you it has passed “ like love’s 
young dream.’’ ’ 

‘ It would have, but for this dreadful affair of Joan’s loss,’ she 
replied. ‘ But won’t you give up this idea of going away so far ? ’ 

‘ The earth, or at least this antipodean part of it, is waiting to be 
subdued and replenished ; I am but obeying the divine command ; 
though, on reflection, it seems hard on the aboriginal lords and 
ladies of the soil that we should use these scriptural injunctions to 
justify our aggressions.’ 

P 


226 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ Stuff and nonsense, Roland ! Why can’t you be serious when I 
want to talk quietly with you ? ’ 

‘My dear, I am as serious as the Rev. Jeremiah Jiggs, who, 
you recollect, united you (that ’s the clerical phrase, I believe) to 
the man of your choice ; and as for quietness, I am as tame as that 
old nag you ride with such matronly dignity.’ 

‘ Then I wish you would be reasonable and drop your aggravat- 
ing quizzical ways.’ 

‘ To be reasonable is beyond the capacity of most people, and I 
am no exception. As for the rest, can the ferocious leopard change 
his spots, or the black man his ebony hue ?’ 

‘ I firmly believe any metamorphosis of the kind would be 
easier than to keep you to the point, when you once begin to fence 
a question,’ irately said the usually placid Maria. 

‘ Here cometh James ; shall we defer our interesting conversa- 
tion to a more convenient season ? ’ he replied. ‘ I am like clay in 
the hands of the potter when in your society.’ 

She met with small assistance from her husband ; he knew that 
Roland had quite decided on going, and that no persuasion would 
avail to prevent him now. 

‘ It ’s the best thing he can do,’ he said to her when the matter 
was first mooted. ‘ He is not hampered with a wife and con- 
tingent possibilities ; in fact, the boot is on the other leg. He ’s 
not got over the wound inflicted by one of your fascinating sex ; 
and the recognised and approved plan to effect a recovery is to 
retire from the haunts of men, and more particularly women, to 
some place where there is something to kill. Big game is best ; I 
suppose black fellows may be included in the category.’ 

‘ And very possibly get killed himself,’ said Maria ; ‘ but it ’s no 
use talking to you men.’ 

She made one more attempt by pointing out that there was 
every probability of Roland being appointed Sir Archibald’s heir. 

‘ Why can’t he wait and see before he risks his life in that awful 
country and climate ? Aunt is dreadfully cut up about his going.’ 

‘ It ’s no use, my dear,’ said Enfield ; ‘ I have talked seriously 
with him about that and other matters, and, whatever we may 
think or do, he has absolutely made up his mind and will not be 
turned from his purpose.’ 

From that time it was tacitly understood that Roland would in 
the course of three or four months leave for New South Wales, 
and that no further opposition was to be offered by his relatives. 

There were several more consultations with Sergeant Wash 
respecting the fate of his sister, but that zealous if somewhat 
self-opinionated officer evidently needed no spurring on if any 
clew became known. 

‘ I ’ve my own theory, Mr. Grantley, as you know,’ he said ; ‘ but 
that won’t prevent my following any trace, wherever it leads me.’ 

At length all was settled, and, scarcely expecting to see En- 
counter Bay again, or at any rate not for years, Roland found him- 


FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW 


227 


self on the track for the south-east. The journey was monotonous, 
nothing transpiring to distract his gloomy thoughts from the late 
depressing events, until he approached the upper end of the 
Coorong. In the evening he was leaving the beach to camp, when 
he suddenly came upon a number of blacks. There was little sur- 
prise or alarm in this, as the tribe had long been perfectly quiet, 
and he frequently met them on his trips. But on this occasion 
there were signs of uneasiness, and he noticed a tall, grizzled savage 
sink back and cover himself with an opossum-rug. As he did so, 
Grantley caught the glint of a shining object, lilce a brass token, 
on his breast. Surely, too, there was a deep scar across the brow 
and cheekbone. Occupied with his own troubled reflections, this at 
the time did not make much impression upon him ; and when a few 
words had passed with one or two who knew him well, he rode on. 

It was when camped that night that it came upon him like an 
inspiration that the man who shrank from observation was no other 
than the warrior who took so prominent a part in the massacre of 
the shipwrecked party, and the same desperado who, in defiance 
of Major Cuthbert’s armed troopers, escaped in the Coorong. He 
felt half inclined to ride back and ascertain what the bright thing 
was that hung from his neck. It might be some memento of his 
unfortunate shipmates, but it was not to be supposed, if this were 
really the savage he took him to be, that he would be surprised a 
second time, or submit quietly to a single opponent. 

‘ Should a similar chance oifer, I shall be on my guard, and, if he 
is the ruffian I think, he shall show what his ornament is,’ he 
decided ; and so Roland Grantley missed an opportunity of learn- 
ing a secret. 

As he rode on the next morning, he at first quite casually 
noticed a tall gum-tree with a straight trunk, so much finer than 
others near that he could not help observing it, and even rode up 
to examine it more closely. As he did so, an eagle-hawk flev^ off 
a broken limb, and an opossum it had dragged from a hole and 
killed fell to the ground. 

‘ A poor little black ring-tail,’ he said ; ‘ and by the fur hanging 
to the end of the broken bough, that is where he was caught. A 
good tree for posts, and, if nearer the station, it would not stand 
long. What a pretty peep at the sea between those sandhills ! ’ 

Years after these trifling incidents were to be recalled to his 
recollection in a peculiar manner. 

That evening he reached the station, and found Floss Gifford, 
who was evidently glad to see him, 

‘ The place is dull when a fellow is all alone. Scarcely a soul 
has been here since I came, except two of the Lawns and two or 
three other fellows,’ said he. 

‘ Not a bad average of visitors,’ replied Roland, ‘ for this out-of- 
the-way locality ; I ’ve been longer here and not seen a soul.’ 

It was obvious that Floss felt nervous and excited, no doubt 
still thinking of the unaccountable fate of his lost love, though he 


228 


PAVING THE WAY 


never alluded to the subject, probably knowing that, if there were 
anything new to communicate, he would be informed. During the 
next day Grantley told him of his intention to start for the Darling, 
as soon as arrangements could be completed. 

‘ I shall send about five thousand ewes from Talkie and here in a 
few weeks, and follow them up myself later. I have spoken to 
Enfield about your buying this run from me. It will work in well 
with your place and form a fine compact property.’ 

‘ Why do you want to clear out, Roland ? It seems to me, as 
well as others, that this is a coming part of the colony. The 
climate is splendid ; droughts only slight, so that losses are small ; 
and the black difficulty, no small one, as we are aware from past 
experience, is over.’ 

‘ I ’ve weighed it all,’ answered the other, ‘ and may tell you at 
once it is no use arguing — I ’m off. I quite agree that this portion 
of the colony will progress ; it is well situated between Adelaide 
and Melbourne. All the more inducement to you and Enfield to 
accept my offer, while I am in the humour. I am quite cognisant 
of the many difficulties connected with taking up country where I 
intend going; but the New South Wales Government are liberal in 
their conditions.’ 

‘ I presume you have counted the risks,’ said Floss. ‘ Here the 
niggers were bad enough, and worse on the Murray ; but I ’m told 
the Darling fellows are infinitely worse still.’ 

‘ Possibly ; but the ruling powers of Sydney leave us pretty 
much to settle our own little differences with them, and, as the 
whole of the river frontage is being rapidly taken up, there will be 
plenty of strength to cope effectually with the noble savage. 
Think over my proposal, and write to Enfield ; if you don’t buy, 
some one else will. I am in a roving mood, and the centre of the 
continent presents the most attractions just now.’ 

‘You are a good-plucked one, and deserve success. For myself, 
I ’d rather live on the smell of a greased rag here than make 
millions in a climate like that.’ 

‘ But I am not going with the expectation of accumulating 
millions. A considerably less amount will do. As to the greased 
rag, I ’m much more likely to have to subsist on that meagre 
nourishment there than here.’ 

‘Well,’ rejoined Gifford, puffing a long whiff of smoke, ‘as my 
reasoning powers, never great, are completely exhausted, I am 
going to try another tack. We know each other sufficiently to 
take liberties ; I ’ll act the part of the candid friend and say that 
you are a d d fool ; how does that strike you ? ’ 

‘ It ’s very conclusive, and unfortunately too true to admit of 
argument, much less denial,’ was the cool rejoinder. 

‘To throw away such chances as you have here, not to mention 
the probabilities your aunt is interesting herself about in the old 
world— why, man, it ’s exasperating ; you ought to be shut up as in- 
capable of managing your own affairs.’ 


FRESH FIELDS AND PASTURES NEW 


229 


Roland smiled. ‘ Calm yourself ; fools and lunatics make very 
good stepping-stones occasionally for wise men to mount to 
fortune. Accept your opportunity and be thankful.’ 

‘ Thankful, because I shall benefit by a fellow I esteem behaving 
like an ass ? Not at all ; but, if go you will and go you must, if this 
mad fit really is so hot, of course we will buy the station, though I 
shall never have done anything with such reluctance in my life.’ 

‘ Then we may consider that settled,’ replied Grantley ; ‘ now let 
us turn in. To-morrow we will go round by the stone hut and the 
blackwood lagoon flocks ; I long for a ride on the Star.’ 

For several weeks the young men were busily engaged in the 
multifarious occupations of station life, and insensibly both grew 
more cheerful under the beneficial effects of constant employment. 

‘Mail to-night,’ observed Grantley, as they were approaching the 
homestead late one evening. ‘ I expect to hear my tender for 
a~ thousand miles of country on the Upper Darling has been 
accepted.’ 

‘ Please God it hasn’t,’ replied Floss. ‘ I hope you will receive 
better news than that.’ 

‘ Starting again, old man ? ’ asked Roland. 

‘Yes, I’m working up ; the life has been so pleasant since you 
came that I ’m not such a blockhead as to wish it ended. If I get 
at the bag first and there is an official letter in it, fire and flame 
are its fate.’ 

Sure enough there was a huge envelope from the Crown Lands 
Office in Sydney, and its contents informed Roland Grantley, Esq., 
that his application for blocks Myall i, 2, 3, and a lot more, had 
been duly granted, subject to conditions specified. 

‘ Bravo ! ’ said he. 

‘ Blast it ! ’ echoed Floss. ‘ Hang the mail ! let us have supper 
first ; over a pipe I may be able with a show of equanimity to en- 
dure such reverses and disappointments.’ While the meal was 
proceeding, a letter in a girl ’s hand caught Roland ’s eye. He took 
It up and read : 

* Dear Mr. Grantley, — Mr. Cleeve is much worse since you left, and 
Petrel has been sent for. I promised to write if anything happened. — 
Yours truly, Lizzie.’ 

The light died out of his face, giving place to the habitual gloom, 
and he rose from the table and went out. For the last few 
months he had struggled to accept the position and acknowledge 
that their lives were finally separated, and now Petrel was thrown 
once more within his reach. He had but to ride to Encounter Bay 
to be with her. True, she might refuse to see him, but there were 
means of meeting without asking her consent. A short time more 
and he would have been far on his expedition into the interior ; and 
now came this fresh temptation. Though the old irrepressible 
longing to behold her again face to face took strong hold of him, 
he still scarcely knew if he were glad or sorry to learn she was 
soon to be so near. 


230 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XLI 

THE HEADMAN SAILS INTO THE UNKNOWN SEA 

For days succeeding the receipt of the note by Grantley from his 
correspondent at Encounter Bay recorded in the last chapter, 
Gilford had little reason to congratulate himself upon the pleasure 
of his companion’s society. At last he appeared to shake off his 
taciturnity. The truth was, he had been struggling against the 
impulse to mount his horse and ride to meet his lost love. The 
temptation was almost overpowering, but his better nature tri- 
umphed. He thought of the dying father and his past generosity 
and kindness to the friendless boy. With a great oath he swore 
she should be sacred to him while under his benefactor’s roof. 

‘ I ’ll push on my departure for the Darling,’ he said, ‘ and not 
embitter his last days even by my presence.’ 

After this resolution had been arrived at, the relations between 
the friends resumed much of their late animation ; and though 
Floss, half in earnest, still protested against the other’s purpose, 
he none the less assiduously assisted him in making the neces- 
sary preparations. 

‘ Mail-night again; how quickly it comes round ! ’ thought Gifford. 
* I trust there will be no more letters, official or otherwise, particu- 
larly otherwise, for him. God knows I have found it hard enough 
to bear my own heavy load of grief with some degree of firmness 
and cheerfulness, even when he has been in his brightest mood.’ 

He opened the bag, and his hopes were dispelled. There was a 
neat little envelope addressed in Petrel’s pretty round hand to 
Roland. He remembered the writing well, as he had often seen it 
when he first knew her, and had always admired the plain, clear 
uniformity of the letters. 

Grantley now entered, and with his quick glance immediately 
saw the note and recognised the hand. Taking it up, he left the 
room, and Gifford saw him no more that night, but he heard him 
pacing about outside for hours. 

The letter ran thus : 

‘ My dear Roland, — Father desires me to write that he wishes to see 
you before he dies. The doctor says he cannot live more than a fortnight 
or three weeks. 

‘ Please come at once to see him. — Yours affectionately, Petrel.’ 

Could Roland Grantley have found the Star or any other good 
horse, he would have been on the road for Encounter Bay within 
an hour. But they were all turned out at large long ago, and the 
night was too dark to hope to find them. 


THE HEADMAN SAILS INTO THE UNKNOWN SEA 231 

The request of his old and dying friend was amply sufficient in 
itself ; but backed by her the summons was imperative and sacred 
as the command of a queen to her slave. How vividly now came 
back to his recollection all the grand old Headman had done for 
him ! His had been no niggard hand ; life, food, lodging, protec- 
tion had all been bestowed upon the friendless, unknown fugitive ; 
without one word or thought of mistrust, he had been given 
a place in his own family and treated as one of its members. 
His own beloved daughter was shown no greater kindness or 
generosity. 

It was to this noble, self-reliant man that he was indebted for 
the training that had fitted him for his pioneer life ; he had taught 
him to ride, row, swim, and use tools as well as most workmen. 
Summing it all up, what did he not owe to the friend now on the 
point of death, who asked to see him once more before the end 
came which he had so often bravely faced in his dangerous avoca- 
tion ? More than all these, the young man, with softened feelings, 
now recalled the perfect trust reposed in him on all occasions. 
Petrel herself had been intrusted to him with a perfect confidence 
that never knew one tinge of doubt ,* and, when there was none 
other to hide and assist the escape of his accomplice, on whom his 
honour and life depended, she was encouraged to dare every risk 
for his sake. 

All night long his thoughts ran on the past, the days which 
seemed so far separated from his present life. He had ordered 
that the horses should be brought up at daylight, and as the first 
flush of light brightened the east he stood by Giflbrd’s bed. 

* Floss, last night Petrel wrote me that her father is dying and 
wishes to see me. I have sent for the Star and shall start directly 
he is saddled.^ 

‘ Quite right, old man,’ said Gifford ; ‘ you can do no less for that 
splendid fellow ; ’ and up jumped the sleeper, and before the mob 
came galloping to the yard, the Star only half extended, with broad 
expanding nostril and flashing eyes, at their head, a good break- 
fast lay ready for Roland and he was made to partake of it. 

His provident friend had also carefully prepared sufficient 
provisions for the journey, and saw that the necessaries for camp- 
ing-out were strapped on the saddle. More than that, he got a 
horse for himself and accompanied the traveller some miles on the 
road, to allow him the opportunity of giving last instructions. 

This done, they parted, and Grantley was left alone to continue 
his rapid ride on his good steed. Late in the night of the second 
day he drew rein at the Fishery cottage, and met Petrel at the 
door. It was certainly she, but where was the bright young face 
of old, with its lustrous dark eyes ? All the light was gone out of it; 
her face was sad and worn with sleeplessness and the eyes dull 
with much weeping. She gave him a warm grasp of the hand, but 
was powerless to say a word. Then came auntie, and from her 
he learned that the Headman was much worse than when Petrel 


232 


PAVING THE WAY 


wrote, and was longing to see him. Presently a voice from an 
inner room called out, though it was so weak and changed that 
Grantley scarcely recognised it — 

* Is that Roily? I thought I heard the Star on the beach.’ 

Without a word to the women the young squatter passed in, and 
sank in uncontrollable emotion by the bedside of the man to whom 
he owed more than to any other on God’s earth. ^ 

The Headman clasped his hand with something of the old firm 
grasp. 

‘ My brave boy,’ he said, ‘ I knew you would come to say good- 
bye, however far you were away, but I feared you might not be in 
time.’ 

Then there was silence again, broken by the dying man saying 
at length in almost cheerful tones — 

‘ Don’t fret. Roily ; I ’ve been a useless, battered old hulk long 
enough, and have looked death in the face too often to flinch now. 
But we won’t talk of that; I want to tell you why I was sent out 
here a convict from England.’ 

Roland raised his head. 

‘ I know the story, and am aware that you committed no crime, 
and that your sentence was unjust.’ 

‘ God bless you, my boy, for saying so ! But how did you hear? 
Was it from Pet ? ’ 

‘No, from your old friend, Mr. Grote ; he wrote my aunt all 
about it, and did you full justice.’ 

‘It was like him. But for that man, I might have become as 
bad as the worst of those with whom I was thrown. He got me 
assigned to him, and trusted me from the beginning, treating me 
with a kindness and consideration I have never forgotten. When 
my time was up, he helped me by a loan of money, and later 
recommended me for employment here. Long before this he had, 
by correspondence with his agents in the old country, learned the 
truth of my statements concerning my arrest and trial. But what 
could he do against such evidence ? I was found with a hare in 
my possession, and, in my passion at being falsely accused by my 
enemy, I knocked him down, maiming him for life. God knows 
what I have suffered for that blow, for that single moment’s for- 
getfulness of my strength. Never since that day have I struck any 
man, however great the provocation. Only a month ago a letter 
reached me from Mr. Grote with the intelligence that my accuser 
on his death-bed stated that he had wronged me, for he knew all 
along I had saved the hare from his dog, and that he was actuated 
by revenge against me. It comes rather late after thirty years, 
when I have only a day or two to live— too late for any reversal of 
the sentence to benefit me, even if it could be obtained, which is 
not likely now. Forgive me, my boy, for dwelling on all this, but 
I could not die happy without telling you the whole truth. There 
is little more to say. I have endeavoured to bear my lot with 
fortitude and patience, and for the sake of Pet alone should have 



Death of the Headman. 



V 



THE HEADMAN SAILS INTO THE UNKNOWN SEA 233 

done so. No human being can charge David Cleeve with having 
wronged him, and, though a convict, I can look my fellow-creatures 
in the face and call God to witness that I am an honest man. I 
am tired now, and so must you be after your long journey.’ 

Roland took the great hands in his. 

‘ My more than father,’ he said in a broken voice, ‘ I believe 
every word you say, and of all the men I ever met you are the best 
and noblest. You have risen superior to the dark fate forced upon 
you, and I, who owe you everything, can never sufficiently thank 
you, can never express half the admiration I feel for you.’ 

A great, glad light shone in the pain-stricken face. 

‘ Hush, my son — though I thank you for the words. Go now; 
another day — I think I have one more to live — I must speak to 
you about Petrel.’ 

- With bowed head the young man passed out of the room as 
auntie went in. 

‘ Tell Petrel,’ she said, ‘ I will attend to him for a while; she wants 
to speak to you.’ 

‘ Forgive me, auntie,’ he whispered, as he stooped and kissed her. 

She knew that he was thinking of his conduct to her niece, and 
answered, pointing to the sick-chamber — 

‘ If he can, who else dare refuse ?’ 

He found Petrel with his horse; she had watered and fed him, 
and now stood fondling his noble head with gentle hands, while he 
bent towards her in mute appreciation. 

‘ He knows me as well as ever,’ she said, as her tears dropped 
fast on the silky mane. 

Pale, worn, and grief-stricken, she scarcely bore any resemblance 
to the bright, joyous girl of but a year ago. An hour since, and 
his impulse would have been to take her in his arms to comfort her, 
had he seen her thus before going in to the sick man; but the 
dying father’s trust had indeed fixed a gulf between them. 

‘ Petrel, I am going now, and shall come back again to-night. 
Can I help you in any way?’ 

‘ Is there no hope,’ she asked, in such a pleading, desponding tone 
that he saw she knew the worst. ‘Can nothing be done? You 
will return soon and stay with him ; he has so longed for your 
coming. O Roily,’ with a frantic burst of weeping, ‘ what will my 
life be when he is gone ? ’ 

What could he say ? Without a word he led the Star out of the 
shed, feeling such a load of sorrow and remorse as surely few men 
have experienced. Then he turned to her, and in a broken voice, 
each tone of which she remembered to her dying day, he said — 

‘Everything I have in the world — every tie, every hope, life 
itself, my soul, my honour — I would give for the right to comfort 
you.’ 

Slowly he mounted his horse, slowly he rode away, and she, half 
frightened by the deep intensity of his words, still felt some of the 
comfort he knew not how to bestow. She must indeed have been 


234 


PAVING THE WAY 


more or less than woman if she had experienced no thrill at the 
suppressed passion that vibrated in his accents. 

Later that night they met again, with recovered calmness, by 
the bedside of the Headman, who, much exhausted by his long 
conversation with Roland, had slept soundly since. It was, how- 
ever, plain that the end was approaching. Occasionally he spoke, 
but apparently was quite content to know that the two he loved so 
well were with him. As the night advanced, he told Petrel to go 
and lie down for a little, as he wanted to talk to Roland alone. 
Then in a whisper so low that Grantley had to bend close to hear 
him — 

‘ You must not think badly of me because Pet was parted from 
you. As soon as I heard that you could not inherit the family 
estate unless separated from her, I knew it must be so. My little 
girl would not have been happy if she had cost you so much. I 
never felt the cruel wrong done me half so deeply as when I 
realised that the stain on my name was a bar to her becoming 
your wife.’ 

‘ I don’t deserve that you should speak to me so ; I have behaved 
like a cur. I ought to have cast the conditions to the winds and 
replied that I was bound to you and Petrel by all the ties of love 
and honour. I am fitly punished.’ 

‘ My poor boy, I wish it could have been otherwise ; but she is a 
wife now, and you must learn to forget her. Now call her back.’ 

Holding a hand of each, he dozed, a great change coming over 
him, which made it evident to the watchers that the end was near. 
Thus an hour passed, and then he motioned to Roland to raise 
him, so that he could look through the window. Daylight was 
breaking, the hour at which he had been accustomed to start in 
pursuit of the great sea-game. An eager expression, almost of joy, 
came into his pallid face. Who shall say if he was thinking of the 
old whaling days, or of the unknown ocean on which he was about 
to launch ? 

* It is time to go, Roily,’ he murmured ; ‘ you will try to forget 
Pet ?’ 

‘ I cannot ; but she will be sacred to me,’ was the whispered 
answer. 

‘ That is right ; I will carry the promise with me,’ they both heard 
him say. 

There was a moment’s pause, and then he gazed fixedly out of 
the open casement over the sea. 

‘ There she spouts ; give way, men ! ’ and with feeble hand he 
motioned as if he were bending his weight to the stem-oar at each 
stroke. Then came in a tone of command — 

‘Make fast!’ 

After this he appeared to be unconscious but suffering no pain. 
Suddenly in clear, abrupt tones came the words — 

* Back-water ; it ’s the death flurry — Steady 1 ’ 

The massive jaw fell, and the closed eyes opened with no light 


THE HEADMAN SAILS INTO THE UNKNOWN SEA 235 

of life in them. Roland laid him gently down and with reverent 
hand, closed his eyelids. And so died David Cleeve, headman and 
convict. Honester, kinder, juster spirit never animated a noble 
form. ‘ An old lag,’ ‘ a Van Diemenian,’ he was a living reproach 
to the arbitrar}^, unjust, and iniquitous laws of his country, that, to 
the scandal of humanity, condemned the man who was innocent of 
any real offence to lifelong infamy. He was one of the noble few 
who rise superior to temptation and every adverse circumstance ; 
the purity of whose nature evil cannot cling to or contaminate ; 
who do right for right’s sake. One of the oldest pioneers of South 
Australia, unacknowledged and unhonoured he passed away, 
though an honour to the country of his birth and the colony of his 
adoption. 

They carried him to his grave in the chapel-yard and laid him 
to rest with all the primitive simplicity of those early days. The 
mourners were not many, but included nearly all those who lived 
within a wide radius around. The majority were of the aboriginal 
race, whose numbers were already rapidly diminishing as European 
civilisation extended, but who had always found in him a kindly 
sympathiser and protector. Some of these, fine, strong, young 
men, had in later years been members of his boat’s crew. There 
too, were Big Solomon, that son of Anak, and Big Tom, his two 
lubras standing a little aside, as was only fitting where men assem- 
bled. They came to see the ‘ big white man ’ put in the ground 
after the manner of his people ; later they would raise their own 
wild lament in his honour. With grave, sad faces they stood 
apart, possibly instinctively feeling that, until the day when the 
black people finally disappeared from the broad Australian con- 
tinent, they would never know a truer friend. 

It is over, and all except Roland and Petrel have gone. 

‘ Shall I say farewell for ever now,’ he asked, ‘ and return your 
letters by another hand ? ’ 

‘No,’ she replied quietly; ‘meet me here to-night for the last 
time, and bring them yourself.’ Then she went. 

‘ Better so,’ he thought ; ‘ let us part at her father’s grave ; there 
at least I cannot forget the promise I have made.’ 

Some hours later, when he returned, she was already there, 
kneeling by the side of the freshly piled-up earth. She rose as he 
approached and he saw that, though she had been weeping, she 
was now composed. Ah, how fragile and pale she looked in the 
moonlight, and how passing fair ! Surely few among the daughters 
of men were so lovely ; nay, it appeared to him that her beauty 
was rather like that which an angel might wear. As she did not 
speak, he said — 

‘ At your request I have brought everything you ever gave me, 
your letters, your portrait, and the lock of hair.’ 

Silently she took them and began idly pulling the framework of 
the daguerreotype to pieces. 

‘ Petrel,’ he pleaded, ‘ give it back to me. I am going far away, 


236 


PAVING THE WAY 


probably never more to see your face. Let me look at it on that 
plate j it will be some consolation to a man who will need it.’ 

‘ It is useless,’ she murmured ; ‘ better destroy all that recalls the 
past.’ 

‘ Oh, no ; remember my lonely life — let me carry some memento 
with me.’ 

She still hesitated. 

‘Trust me, you shall never repent it,’ he whispered ; ‘do not 
refuse my last request.’ 

She placed it in his hands. 

‘ You shall have your wish ; I trust you, Roland Grantley, as 
I used to trust you when we were boy and girl together. Go, now ; 
I shall watch your career, for though you are no longer my lover, 
you are my hero always. It is well to be a man ; to grapple with 
the difficulties and dangers of the wilderness, and thus pave the 
way for those who are to come after, stifling the cravings of the 
heart with noble deeds. Farewell. Do not follow me again. We 
part for ever over this grave.’ 

They clasped hands with a last long look into each other’s 
eyes — then turned away. 


END OF PART L 


PART II 


IN THE INTERIOR 


CHAPTER I 

ON THE DARLING 

It is about mid-winter in the year 185—, and the scene of our 
story changes to the banks of the river Darling, between three 
and four hundred miles above its junction with the mighty Murray. 
The time is evening, and the most remarkable object, or rather 
objects, to be seen at the first glance are two immense moving 
clouds of red dust. These are thick, impenetrable, constantly 
shifting masses, but what causes them the observer is at a loss to 
understand, unless he be one of the initiated. 

If he approach the phenomenon closer, however, or if the light 
breeze strengthens for a moment, he will be able to see innumer- 
able small feet rapidly stirring in and under the lower edge of the 
dust-demon, and then it will dawn upon his comprehension that 
in that column of circling earth-particles a flock of sheep are, in 
shepherd’s parlance, ‘ drawing up ’ to the yard. 

Some distance behind, outside the darkness that can be felt, 
but still in an impalpable floating powder of his original element, 
rides a man on a dark-coloured horse with a gleaming white star 
in the centre of his broad forehead, talking to the individual who 
evidently has the flock before them in his charge. 

The shepherd, Neill Monaghan, we have never yet met. He is 
a tall man, with long, shambling limbs, dressed in clothes of 
greater diversity of cut than Joseph’s celebrated coat had of colour. 
His features are as irregular as his garments, but withal express 
the utmost good-humour and good-nature. 

There is no mistaking the rider or his steed. They are respec- 
tively Roland Grantley and the Star, both a little more fine-drawn 

237 


238 


PAVING THE WAY 


than when we last saw them, but each animated by the same 
dauntless spirit, as evidenced by their alert look and movement. 

Presently the flocks are in their respective yards and at rest ; 
then the clouds of dust roll away, and an encampment can be 
observed on the bank of a billabong of broad, clear water. There 
are three or four tents, a dray, and a horse-cart, still loaded with 
the stores necessary for forming a new station. Not far off can 
be heard the bells which tell the whereabouts of the horses and 
bullocks. 

The camp is on a considerable elevation, commanding a view 
of a wide expanse of country. Immediately in front, to the south, 
winds the Darling (the Parka of the aborigines), its course marked 
by the tall gum- and box-trees lining its channel. 

In the distance these trees have the appearance of a dark, 
impervious wall, and, though far out in the back country, the 
merest novice in bushcraft could never mistake that winding, 
unbroken line. Many a poor wretch, dying of thirst, casting his 
despairing eyes upon it, has again taken heart and been saved. 
To the north roll away undulating sandhills, well grassed and 
clothed with box-wood, hop-bush, and an occasional beef-wood 
tree. Beyond these are wide plains dotted with clumps of 
eucalypti and bounded by another line of timber, much lower 
than that along the river banks, but still denoting to the practised 
eye that there runs a long billabong, receiving its waters in flood- 
time from the great stream, and restoring them to it many miles 
lower down, probably after filling several lakes and pools. 

To the west, away over sandhills, plains, belts of timber, and 
the winding billabong, rises a chain of hills. As they rear them- 
selves from a broad expanse of level land, they deserve, as they 
have received, the appellation of mountains. Dark and gloomy, 
they run as far as sight can penetrate the clear air in a north- 
westerly direction, miles of their rocky crests, deep ravines, and 
sun-baked slopes being clothed with the sombre mulga, the acacia, 
which covers such a vast area of Central Australia. 

In this mountain-range are numerous caves, said to be haunted 
by the evil genii of the river-aborigine. The spirits of the extinct 
‘ Mullas,’ the ancient foe of the ancestors of the present living 
savage, howl with resounding cries among these rocks from closing 
eve to earliest dawn. The white man may not hear them or dis- 
tinguish their wailing notes from the night-bird’s mournful and 
discordant call ; but his companion, the shrinking black boy, will 
cower with covered head by the camp-fire and refuse to leave its 
light on any pretext whatever. No ; the horses may make a stam- 
pede for home, involving a long tramp in the morning back to the 
head station— better that than be struck with an incurable sick- 
ness by those diabolical foes. So the clank of the hobble-chains 
grows fainter in the distance, unless the master rises and brings 
back the restless animals himself. Indeed, in the early days, it 
needed strong measures to induce any members of the Parkingee 


ON THE DARLING 


239 


tribe to camp rti or near these hills ; and whenever sickness 
followed, no matter what interval had elapsed, the result plainly 
and conclusively proved the white man’s folly and the Mullas’ 
malice. 

‘ What for white man big one stupid ? ’ would be the invariable 
reproach. 

At rare periods these broad plains are seas of water ; then the 
sandhills are islands, the trees on the lower lands rearing their 
tops above the floods. The base of the mountain range is laved 
by the waves, as the strong winds drive them to and fro. Weeks 
or months this may continue ; then the waters recede, and . a 
luxuriant growth of grass and herbage takes their place. This 
lasts for but a short time, however, and then the lately consolidated 
soil opens in bottomless fissures. These radiate in all directions, 
until there seems to be not one yard of solid earth in the great 
expanse of recently submerged country. 

Truly it is a wonderful land. In a good season it is magnificent 
in its fattening qualities ; in a bad, still surprising in its carrying 
capacity, considering the utter barrenness of its aspect. Nature 
surely has here surpassed herself in the variety of vegetable food 
she has provided for animal life. Scarcely a bush, or plant of 
any kind, that is not excellent for stock. Water, of course, is 
abundant where the river or its affluents flow, but beyond their 
reach there are few permanent springs, creeks, or holes of any 
kind ; and, with the exception of the Darling Valley, the country 
is an arid, waterless waste like the principal portion of the vast 
interior of Australia. 

It was into this country Roland Grantley had led his party and 
his flocks. He was not alone, as the whole of the long river- 
frontage was already being quickly taken up and occupied. The 
influx came from two directions, one stream of immigrants coming 
from South Australia up the Murray, the other down the stream 
from the Sydney side. 

At first the blacks had been decidedly hostile, and, being a fine 
race, had tried their strength and skill in many a hotly contested 
struggle before they realised how useless were their spears and 
boomerangs against the invader’s powder and ball. It was soon 
all over; the white man finally took possession of the whole 
river-frontage, and, finding a difficulty in obtaining Europeans to 
herd his sheep, he placed the aboriginal in charge, and, that there 
might be no temptation to help himself, arranged to feed him. 

Gradually a sort of tacit understanding was arrived at that each 
station should look after the natives belonging to that particular 
tract of country and keep them in good order. For years there 
were disturbances accompanied by considerable loss of life, but 
the system was effectual in its operation and soon told. Brutal 
excess brought about equally brutal retaliation, but among the 
superior class of squatters there was a strong opposition to the 
shooting tactics which had obtained in many parts of Australia, 


240 


PAVING THE WAY 


to the lasting disgrace both of the settlers and of the various 
Governments ; and these men exercised much influence. 

By men of this class offences were punished by the lash, which 
undoubtedly proved much more efficacious in cases of theft than 
the rough-and-ready method of nearly indiscriminate shooting. 
Nor, after the country had been occupied for a short time, was 
much difficulty experienced in discovering the culprits. When 
the blacks found they were well treated and fed, and compre- 
hended that this depended upon good behaviour, they were not 
averse to denounce the offender, provided his life was spared. 

We left Roland Grantley superintending the folding of his 
sheep. He had then arrived on his future station only a few 
weeks, several of his neighbours having preceded him by a con- 
siderable interval. For a time the blacks kept aloof ; then by 
accident he met an old man and woman and invited them to the 
camp. Once there, their fears seemed to leave them, and, after 
receiving some food and trinkets, instead of departing, they signi- 
fied their intention of remaining in the vicinity. Intercourse hav- 
ing been thus begun, nothing had transpired to check it, and others 
came in and immediately set to work. One brought up the horses 
every morning, several kept up a supply of firewood, carried 
water, and in a score of ways showed their eagerness to be of 
service. 

One young fellow, who always seemed to be preparing or firing 
off a broad grin, was incontinently dubbed ‘Jolly-boy.’ He early 
expressed a desire to ride, and, a quiet old horse having been 
saddled, he straightway scrambled up on the wrong side, accord- 
ing to our notions and prejudices, with his face to the animal’s 
tail. On discovering the mistake the assembled aborigines fairly 
shrieked with laughter ; but when he was set right by Grantley 
and managed to put the steed in motion without tumbling off, 
their admiration was extreme. Later, he went for a lengthened 
excursion into the back country and along the unknown part of 
the frontage. Two or three lessons were sufficient ; he did the 
rest himself, very soon becoming an expert rider. His young 
companions with equal ambition seized every opportunity of dis- 
tinguishing themselves, and henceforth there were more aspirants 
for equestrian honours than horses. 

In course of time a fairly comfortable house was erected, with 
the usual outbuildings and yards for cattle and horses. Then 
lambing began, and the natives were at once utilised in congenial 
employment, the result proving in the highest degree satisfactory. 

About this period the river was opened to navigation, and the 
success of Grantley’s enterprise seemed assured. 

His sheep rapidly increased, and improved by the assiduous 
attention paid them. The cattle also bred fast, as indeed the 
whole brute creation without exception appeared to do in this 
climate. 

He led a lonely life, comparatively rarely seeing his neighbours, 


ON THE DARLING 


241 


and indeed spending most of his time among the natives and his 
flocks. He learned the native language and gained their confi- 
dence ; for, though ruling them with the utmost strictness, he not 
only strove to be just in settling all disputes, but protected them 
from the other whites. Stern and often all too severe himself, he 
suffered no other to molest or oppress them in any way. His 
word was never broken whether for good or evil, and they quickly 
learned that it was law. In his character there was no vacillation 
or weakness, and they respected him accordingly. 

They recognised in him a perfect bushman, and even in the 
management of their bark canoes he soon became as expert as 
the best of them. He joined their hunting and fishing parties, 
rode out fearlessly with them all alone and unarmed, camping 
night after night in their midst and sleeping as soundly as any. 
Freely eating and drinking with them, he yet never relaxed his 
authority as their master. If he deemed it necessary, though it 
rarely was so, he would flog a black fellow one day and the next 
start with him as his sole companion for a long trip into new 
wilds. Like all savage races, they were quick to recognise the 
fearless, intrepid nature, and a strong mutual liking sprang up, 
which never lessened while their relations continued. In course 
of time they shepherded nearly all the sheep, and the young men 
and boys did most of the stock-keeping and other riding work. 
Thus things went on for five years, until the increase of his flocks 
and herds had become so considerable that Grantley began to 
contemplate extending his operations by taking up more country. 
With this end in view, he made an exploring trip to the north- 
west, accompanied by a black fellow named Bobby, who was a 
native of that part of the district. The journey was not productive 
of great results. They found only one small spring, and that of 
little importance. No other permanent waters were seen except 
a group of springs of a saline nature, already in the possession of 
a neighbour. 

It was while they were encamped near these that Bobby one 
night related to his master how his tribe had become so reduced 
in numbers. 

‘ They were once many,’ said he, * and all the back-country 
between the Paroo and the Cooper belonged to them. Then a 
great drought set in, and the waters dried up so that none was 
left in the creeks. I was not born, and my father was only a very 
young man. As the rivers failed, the black men came in to the 
Pirie Springs. The weather got hotter and hotter, yet no rain 
fell, and at last the springs began to dry up, and day by day they 
became more salt and bitter. Then a sickness broke out, sparing 
neither the strong man nor the young child. For a time the wise 
men said it was the “Boree” that had smitten them, but others 
knew the water had done it, and wanted to go away. But where ? 
The Parka (Darling) was too far for the sick to travel, so they 
lingered on, and, when the rain at length poured down, the 

Q 


242 


PAVING THE WAY 


numerous tribe of the Pernouries had dwindled to a few indi- 
viduals, not twenty in all. 

‘Their bones lie in that soft sandhill,’ continued the sable 
narrator, ‘ and those that are left of my people will soon follow 
them.’ 

Then he broke into a wild wail of grief and lamentation for the 
extinction of his race. 


CHAPTER II 

ON THE QUEENSLAND BORDER 

A LONGER excursion was subsequently undertaken by Grantley 
to the Queensland boundary, and a large tract of country secured, 
which was later formed into a station. At that time there were 
few runs occupied so far out as that part of Queensland, and 
the natives were numerous and hostile ; nor was the treatment 
accorded them calculated to make them anything else. They 
were in the way of the squatters’ flocks and herds, particularly 
during the dry season, when the available waters became few, and 
cattle, natives, and game thronged upon them. The inevitable 
result followed : the white man and the black came into collision — 
in many instances, indeed, they had done so as soon as the runs 
were stocked — and the wiping-out process had begun. 

It may fairly be asserted that in no part of Australia has the 
original inhabitant been too tenderly treated by the interloper. 
Generally his interests have been utterly neglected by Colonial 
Governments, even if he has not been ruthlessly dealt with. In 
this particular part of the continent there was nothing of justice 
and little of mercy, and in a few years nearly the whole of the 
blacks disappeared. Indubitably the squatters were responsible 
for much of this, for, if not actually engaged themselves in the 
atrocious ‘ black-birding ’ which prevailed, they were the means 
in many cases of the bloodthirsty black police patrolling their 
runs and ‘dispersing’ the unfortunate savages, which, put plainly, 
meant nearly indiscriminate slaughter. 

Tales are told of these events, far too numerous to be inserted 
here ; but a few may be selected which are by no means the most 
horrible. 

It must be remembered that the ‘black police’ were men 
selected principally from the remnants of coastal tribes, which 
were hostile to those of the interior. They were trained to 
arms, and, loving slaughter for slaughter’s sake, were absolutely 
unaffected by any feelings of humanity towards their fellow- 
countrymen. 

It is said that once, when on patrol in the western district of 


ON THE QUEENSLAND BORDER 243 

Queensland, the black troopers tracked a band of natives to the 
brink of a water-hole. Not a sign of them could be seen, but the 
astute human bloodhounds fathomed the ruse practised, and 
asked leave of their officer to enter the water. Permission being 
given, they stripped themselves and, knife in hand, plunged in, 
and the slaughter began. The hard-pressed fugitives had hoped 
for escape by sinking their bodies completely beneath the surface 
and breathing through the floating reeds. That is the sort of deed 
the half-civilised and well-armed savage would revel in. 

On another occasion two drovers in their travels in Queensland 
came upon the remains of a number of slain lying together, and 
around them the tracks of the horses, where they had been ridden 
in a circle while the shooting continued. 

Of course these stories will be denied, as the general charge of 
inhumanity is ; but instance upon instance might be recorded, not 
alone of devil’s work perpetrated by the black police as a body, but 
of individual ferocity exhibited by them and the settlers also. 

This state of things had obtained some time when Roland 
Grantley arrived with his sheep on Purndal, as his new property 
was called. At first not a native was to be seen, but those he had 
brought from Moolahalla soon opened up communications, and in 
a few weeks most of the outlaws of the district were at his service. 
They were put on as shepherds, or in any capacity in which they 
could be made useful ; and right well, on the whole, did they repay 
the trust reposed in them. 

There was, however, an old ruffian known as Baldy who never 
submitted to the white intruder’s sway. His body was said to be 
riddled with bullets, mementoes of his many encounters with his 
European foes. On one occasion he nearly killed a squatter who 
surprised and made a determined attempt to capture him. A 
desperate struggle ensued ; but, when almost overpowered by the 
strong, slippery savage, whose nakedness gave him an advantage 
in a hand-to-hand tussle, the white man managed to draw a 
revolver and put a bullet through his enemy. Then he ran, and 
the victor was in no condition to follow. Apparently Baldy 
thought little of an additional pellet in his person, as he was 
shortly found again committing a new depredation. 

Grantley often heard of this noted freebooter having been in a 
native shepherd’s camp during the previous night, and, feeling a 
great desire to meet him, made friendly overtures ; but all promises 
of good faith and protection were in vain. The indomitable old 
warrior could not be induced to acknowledge or trust a member 
of the race which had supplanted his own. It was, however, 
understood that he would not molest the people or stock on the 
station, and in return he had assurance of his personal safety. 

About a year before Purndal was occupied, two young men 
from Victoria were murdered by the aborigines on the bank of 
the creek. As there was no white survivor, we can never know 
exactly what had occurred. The native version is as follows : — 


244 


PAVING THE WAY 


The travellers had brought with them from lower down the 
stream a black boy as guide. On getting thus far he desired to 
return, as a few miles further on was the territory of a tribe always 
at war with his own, and he felt very sure they would kill him 
on the first opportunity. The white men either did not believe 
or failed to understand him. At any rate, he was tied to one of 
them, so that he could not escape when they slept. It appears 
that during the day they had been in communication with some 
of his people, and he, doubtless, had also informed them of his 
position. That night, when the Victorians slumbered, the savages 
crept stealthily upon them, and the close of the dreadful scene 
can be easily imagined. The narrators further asserted that the 
unhappy victims had native women with them ; but, if so, this was 
not assigned as a motive for the murder. 

The boy was taken away, and the bodies left to rot there for 
many a long day. At length the deed became known, probably 
through the blacks themselves transmitting the news from one to 
another. Then came the avenger in the person of a relative of 
one of the murdered men, red-hot with vengeful purpose to exact 
the penalty of much more than ‘ a life for a life.’ Who can blame 
him if in his wrath he stayed not his hand? Truly, if the manes 
of the dead could be appeased by blood, they ought to have been 
well satisfied. Strange to relate, the tribe did not appear to feel 
great resentment for the ample revenge. It was only in accord- 
ance with their own laws and the universal practice of the 
strongest ; but they none the less recognised with deep awe 
that the vengeance of the ‘ Boree ’ was very terrible. 

Excepting a few untameable savages like Baldy, the whole of 
the remainder were quiet enough after this. No doubt they killed 
an occasional lonely white tramp, just to keep their hand in, when a 
safe opportunity offered. Even this mild kind of revenge did not 
last long, however, as the settlers divided them up among them- 
selves and made shepherds and stockmen of them, as they had 
done with the tribes on the Darling. They then became a 
thoroughly subject race, and had to abandon much of their 
wild life. Instead of game, they were given mutton and beef 
to feed upon, and in lieu of ‘ parper ’ (native grass-seed) the white 
men gave them flour. 

It was among such tribes that Grantley had formed his stations. 
He had the character of being a silent, self-absorbed man, bend- 
ing the best energies of his mind and body to make his new 
undertaking a success. At this period pastoral pursuits were 
beset with many difficulties and dangers, as we have seen, and 
the consequent failures and sufferings were numerous and great. 
Men of fair means invested their all in these enterprises, and 
after years of toil and privation found themselves left penniless. 
No doubt this was frequently the natural result of inexperience, 
and in other cases of the want of the necessary attention and 
application. But there were often cases where, after the ex- 


ON THE QUEENSLAl^'D BORDER 245 

henditure of immense capital and the waste of the energy of a 
life, utter ruin came at last. Fearful droughts, against which no 
puman foresight could guard, sometimes devastated the land. 
Streams, never before known to fail, failed then, and hundreds 
of thousands of sheep and cattle perished all over the face of 
the country. Stations were deserted, and their late owners, burnt 
up by the blazing sun of that hot region, withered, wrinkled, and 
worn by hardship and anxiety, took their way down to more 
temperate districts, with the merest remnant of their possessions. 
Generally these reverses were well borne. They were often passed 
over with the remark, lightly spoken, but containing a world of 
plaintive meaning — 

‘ I would not care for the money, but I Ve lost the best years of 
my life ; and what am I fit for now ?' 

- Roland had seen much of bush-life with its various vicissitudes. 
Years of hard and lonely struggle, with the almost overwhelming 
difficulties attending the task of subduing the wilderness, had left 
their effects upon him, both mentally and physically. Coming 
from South Australia, he was a stranger to his neighbours, who 
were from the other colonies. Few knew anything respecting 
his earlier life. Indeed, in those roaming days men came and 
departed so frequently that their previous histories excited little 
or no curiosity. 

At this time much of the back-country was still unoccupied, and 
many of the blacks were untamed, and retained all their old pro- 
pensity to steal sheep and spear cattle, being even more than 
suspected of now and then putting away an unknown white fellow, 
when off beaten tracks. Though these deeds were talked of as 
occurring in remoter localities, none had come under Grantley’s 
notice. Indeed, whites and blacks alike knew that such lawless 
acts would not be tolerated in the settled districts. He ruled his 
men with a firm hand, and, though generally respected, he was not 
liked. His voice was far more frequently heard in reproof than 
commendation. Small omissions, of which the offender thought 
little or nothing until he caught the sharp eye that never overlooked 
or forgave them, were followed by the scathing word that was long 
remembered and writhed under. It was well, too, if other punish- 
ment did not fall upon the luckless wight. Still, notwithstanding 
all his hardness and contempt of incompetence, perhaps for this 
very reason, really efficient workmen and servants preferred to 
live in his employ and remain many years with him, an uncommon 
occurrence at that time. His influence over the aborigines had 
grown from the first, and was now unbounded. His stern justice 
won their respect. His word was never broken, whether it 
promised a gift or a flogging, though occasions for the latter were 
few in consequence. In other respects the natives were well cared 
for, even if hard worked. Possessed of a rare energy that never 
appeared to tire, and a perseverance that acknowledged no 
obstacles as insurmountable, Roland Grantley was the very man 


PAVING THE WAY 


246 

for the position he filled. Indeed, it was when dangers and 
difficulties pressed thickest and seemed overwhelming that the 
calm face lighted up and cheery words were spoken, that at other 
times were so rare. He was a man who went straight to his 
purpose with a dauntless self-reliance which was only justified by 
the liberal measure of success such qualities so frequently com- 
mand. To gain this end he never spared himself ; what wonder, 
then, if he did not spare others? In his ruthless disregard of the 
feelings and opinions of those beneath his authority consisted his 
chief fault, since it pressed heavily, even tyrannously, upon them. 
Yet none could doubt his fitness for such an isolated post, far 
remote from society and law, where the cool judgment and the 
firm will were so much required. A man of limitless resources, he 
was never at fault, whatever the demands made upon his energy 
through losses by fire or flood, drought or disease. 

Such was our hero after years of toil and trouble as a pioneer 
squatter in the vast interior of Australia. The life had ripened 
his natural qualities and taught him to feel a proud reliance on his 
ability to surmount all obstacles ; but it had left its imprint upon 
the set, hard face. There, too, the deep lines had grown deeper 
still which were the tokens of the early sorrow that his ill-fated 
passion brought. A more settled gloom and greater restlessness 
characterised him now, which told their tale to those who were much 
in his society. Men are close observers in the solitary bush, and 
they could not fail to note that there must be some cause for the 
sleepless nights and the incessant tramp to and fro for long hours 
together. He himself never ceased to feel how different things 
might have been, if, instead of the lonely, cheerless lot that 
fostered his harder qualities, he had seen the dear lost face smiling 
on him with all the softening influence of a devoted wife. 


CHAPTER III 

THE NEW COOK 

The long dry summer was nearly over, and its close was being 
looked forward to, since it had lasted some eight months. Rain there 
had been none, and, though it was May, the sun during the middle 
of the day continued to pour down a heat that only a salamander 
or a black fellow can enjoy. Lazy, enervating weather it was, 
such as saps the energy of most men and makes them wonder if 
there be any truth in the contention that all things are for the best 
in the best of all possible worlds. Why are they compelled to 
work for a living ? Surely it is a time to smoke and drink cool 
beverages in thick, impervious shades, to lead a lotus-eater’s 


THE NEW COOK 


247 


life, such as poets and sybarites have fancied. Ay, and not they 
alone ; for the bushman, too, pictures*to himself similar^delights, 
and trusts, some day, to see them realised, when shearing is over 
and the ‘ clip ’ sold, or that mob of fat cattle tops the market, even 
though his Elysium may only take the form of the doubtful joys of 
a big spree in Melbourne or Sydney. 

Roland Grantley was not, however, thinking of any of these 
things. The more practical domestic affairs of the homestead 
engrossed his attention for the moment. It is often said on a 
station that the cook is more bother than all the rest of the hands 
put together. That functionary had, figuratively speaking, been 
kicking up his heels at Moolahalla, and the boss had tersely told 
him to come for his cheque and clear out. Who was to prepare 
the next meal would have to be a consideration when the necessity 
“arose ; meantime, all that had to be done was to balance a few 
figures, fill in the cheque, and, when the late provider of ill-cooked 
viands had rolled up his swag, to hand it to him. This matter of 
routine was scarcely concluded, when a cart was driven up and a 
tall, square-shouldered man alighted and inquired if there was 
any employment to be obtained. 

‘How many of you?’ asked Grantley, ‘and what work are you 
looking for ?’ 

‘ Myself, wife, and two children,’ was the answer. ‘ I ’ll do 
anything these hard times, and she can take cooking and house- 
keeping.’ 

‘ Too many of you for my purpose,’ said Grantley ; ‘ but if you 
camp in the bend your wife can come up later and see me about 
it.’ 

A few minutes later shouts and screams were heard from up the 
bank of the river, and on hastening there Roland found the cart cap- 
sized and both shafts broken ; presumably no other damage having 
been done. In answer to his inquiries^the owner said that the horse 
had suddenly commenced kicking, apparently without cause, and, 
after throwing his wife and children out, had broken the vehicle, 
'i he woman was evidently very much alarmed, and declared that 
she dared not go on with the same animal again. 

She was quite young, with gentle, quiet manners, which enlisted 
the sympathies of the squatter in spite of his assumed hardness. 
In her face there was a startled look that appeared almost habitual, 
though it might well be assigned to the accident which had just 
occurred. 

At that period white women were rare on the Darling, and the few 
there were, were usually of one type — weather-beaten, coarse, and 
rough-spoken ; but this fair creature was the direct antithesis of 
these. She stood by the wreck of the cart, her colour coming and 
going, with her children beside her, silently appealing for the 
assistance of the squatter. He was not easily moved, and for 
years had not allowed his sympathies to influence his judgment 
in business matters. No woman except the dusky daughters of 


PAVING THE WAY 


248 

the soil were on his stations, there being a sort of feeling in his 
mind that trouble would arise if any of the sex found a footing 
there. But this girl— she appeared little more in years— was 
evidently so different from the usual type that he overcame his 
reluctance, and, approaching her, spoke a few kind words with a 
strange softening of the voice that was never there when he 
addressed men. He said he would see what could be done to 
help them ; meanwhile, she must go to the house and get what 
she required for herself and the children. 

Her pretty, timid face flushed with pleasure, and in a voice low 
and sweet she thanked him. There was a charm in its diffidence 
and shyness for a man who had, for so many years, beheld none 
but the roughest specimens of womanhood. 

The next day the husband borrowed some tools to repair his 
cart. This took longer than anticipated, causing several days’ 
delay, during which Grantley employed the woman in sewing and 
a few other feminine matters connected with the domestic arrange- 
ments of the bachelor establishment, which sadly required attention. 
These she did so well, and her manners were so modest and 
nice, that the owner decided to install her as cook and house- 
keeper, and the man as general station-hand. They were delighted 
to accept the situation, and in a few days Bert Darly and his wife 
were comfortably settled among the employes of Moolahalla. 

A very short time sufficed for the neat, active little woman to 
effect a marked improvement in the interior of the house ; and 
great was the self-gratulation of the owner at having discharged 
‘ that brute of a man-cook ’ who, with possibly the best intentions, 
had starved, disgusted, and well-nigh poisoned him. The house- 
keeper’s awe of her master never appeared to decrease ; she 
scarcely spoke, unless absolutely compelled to do so about house- 
hold matters, and then she expressed herself as shortly as pos- 
sible. Her deft ways and the perfect knowledge she displayed of 
her duties rendered interference on his part unnecessary. This 
Grantley soon saw, and, with a relief that only the head of such 
an establishment in remote districts can know, left domestic 
affairs entirely under her control. For weeks not twenty words 
passed between them. To him there seemed no occasion for 
orders or directions, and he had become so taciturn that he never 
spoke without a purpose ; but on the rare occasions when he did 
speak to her his voice grew gentle. He read a piteous story in 
her quiet, timid manner and frightened eyes that none other saw. 
Once only was his tone harsh and stern. He had amply supplied 
a poor tramp and his wife with provisions out of the store, and 
later saw her hand them bread and meat. But when the sharp 
reproof came for giving what was her employer’s and not her 
own, the softened eyes told that, as man, he approved her 
womanly kindness though, as manager, he condemned it. 

Months passed on, and the Darlys gave their employer com- 
plete satisfaction. With every one else Mrs. Darly was a great 


THE NEW COOK 


249 


favourite. Ever ready to render any assistance in sickness, or in 
the thousand ways a true woman can, she gained the respect and 
esteem of the rough bushmen. Of them all, none guessed the 
secret that must have gnawed at the heart of the gentle woman, 
and caused the hunted look and start, almost of terror, she in- 
voluntarily gave if unexpectedly approached. 

Shearing had now begun— the period when, above all others, 
activity prevails on a bush-station, and the manager is considered 
a greater tyrant than ever. 

One evening, the long, arduous day’s work being over, the 
master was just sitting down to supper when a knock was heard 
at the door. On Grantley opening it, the visitor asked for a few 
moments’ private conversation, and immediately led the way 
out into the darkness. Roland took his hat and followed in 
sdence. 

In the gleam of light through the opened door, he had seen a 
man of about middle height, with the drooping shoulders that 
detract so much from manliness of appearance, if not from 
strength. His dress was that of a common ‘swagman.’ He 
wore dirty moleskin trousers and a blue serge shirt, with a belt 
round his waist in which was stuck a tomahawk or small axe — 
not an unusual thing with men of his class. 

Bright, quick, restless eyes lighted up a dark and evil-looking 
face. Heavy black locks fell down over his neck and hung about 
his sallow cheeks, giving a wild look to the brutal, half-insane 
countenance. His nose was thin and hooked, and his mouth 
large and straight, with thin, cruel lips that showed a few fangs of 
teeth beneath. The chin was pointed and scantily covered with 
a bristly beard, every hair of which appeared at variance with its 
fellow. Altogether, unless grossly maligned by his appearance, 
he bore the unmistakable stamp of loafer and villain. 

His first words were — 

‘ Have you a couple in your employ named Darly?’ 

‘Yes ; and what business is that of yours?’ 

‘ That woman is my wife,’ came slowly from the hard mouth. 

‘ Do you know what you are saying ? ’ retorted Grantley, ‘ or 
are you mad ? ’ 

‘ Not mad at all, sir ! She ran away from me three years ago. 
I suppose you thought her Darly’s wife?’ 

‘ Of course I did. Who was she before you married her, and 
where is she from ? ’ 

‘ Her parents are named Haxter, and live three hundred miles 
from here on Tilbinnie station,’ said the stranger. 

‘ What is your name ? and what do you want me to do ? ’ 

‘ I am called Cowler, and I want you to arrange for me to see 
my wife alone.’ 

‘ Why alone ? Though perhaps your request is reasonable 
enough.’ 

‘ Because Darly has sworn to murder me if I go near her, and 


250 PAVING THE WAY 

I neither wish to be killed nor crippled. He is a far stronger 
man than I am.’ 

A contemptuous smile passed across the face of the squatter as 
he replied — 

‘You must be a coward, or you would dare greater dangers 
than that to see your wife. But what is your purpose in seeking 
this interview?’ 

‘ Simply to induce her to return home with me.’ 

‘ Do you think there is any probability of that ? ’ 

‘ I do ; but, if she doesn’t come, I want my child. I have a 
right to him at least.’ 

‘ Doubtless, in the eyes of the law ; but what can you do with 
a mere baby not able to walk ten miles ?’ 

‘ I will manage with him somehow,’ said the man sullenly. 

‘Where were you when your wife left your house?’ asked 
Roland, still suspicious. 

‘ Away, looking for work ; and on returning I found she had 
been gone a month. Since then I have been wandering about 
searching for her.’ 

‘ How far your tale is true, I cannot tell,’ answered Grantley ; 
‘it seems reasonable that you should have an opportunity of 
persuading her to go back to you ; but in any case I will allow no 
violence, you understand?’ 

‘ I do ; and promise neither to alarm nor injure her by word or 
deed.’ 

‘That will do,’ returned the other in a milder tone than he had 
yet used. ‘ Now, go and camp in a bend of the river out of the 
way, and come up in the morning at nine o’clock, when all the 
men will be at the shearing-shed. Then you shall see your wife. 
You have food?’ 

‘Yes, thank you;’ and the visitor moved off in the direction 
indicated. 

Roland Grantley went to bed that night an angry man. He 
felt he had been deceived, if there were any truth in the story of 
that black- visaged stranger, which he little doubted. His old mis- 
givings now assumed a definite shape, a conviction that the past 
he had dimly seen written in her troubled face would be revealed. 
Not that he yet believed that she was not more sinned against 
than sinning ; but she and Bert Darly had misrepresented them- 
selves, and so entered his service under false colours. He well 
knew, and so doubtless did they, that he would never have em- 
ployed them if he had known they were not husband and wife. 
He could have excused their keeping their secret until engaged 
and appreciated, since divulging it would have prevented most 
masters from employing them ; but later on they might have 
trusted him with the truth. It was the continued deception that 
annoyed him. He was vexed, too, that his estimate of the 
woman’s goodness and virtue proved so miserably mistaken. How 
dare she look so meek and pure with that black shadow hanging 


THE NEW COOK 


251 


over her daily lile ? He would have no mercy ; she should face 
her accuser without one word of warning, and with no time 
allowed to weave a subtle tale to cover her sin. The truth should 
be known in all its nakedness, and the mask stripped from the 
living lie that had been under his roof for months past. Obvi- 
ously yon scowling cur he had met out there in the gloaming was 
no dainty husband ; but were men’s hearts croquet-balls to be 
played with at a woman’s caprice ? 

Such thoughts were perhaps natural under the circumstances, 
but were by no means fair. He, in his indignation and dis- 
appointment, was arrogating to himself the right to judge and to 
condemn without hearing the evidence for the defence. This, 
however, he had to learn ; and he was yet to regret that he had 
suffered his faith in the woman’s superiority in all the gentler, 
purer attributes to falter at the first breath of slander, and so had 
given an opportunity to an evil man and worse husband to wreak 
his vengeance. 


CHAPTER IV 

A MURDEROUS OUTRAGE 

The next morning broke bright and beautiful, as nearly every 
opening day is during the earlier winter months in this favoured 
southern land, which then enjoys a climate in which a sybarite 
might love to idle his life away, so calm is the cloudless sky, so 
clear and balmy the air. 

Roland was careful to be back at the house from his duties at 
the shearing-shed by eight o’clock. He there found his overseer, 
Edgar Peerton, who had unexpectedly come in from an out-station. 
With the exception of a little black girl, Miola, of whom we shall 
hear more later, there was no one else about. 

He had just time to mention to Peerton that he expected a scene, 
when Cowler approached. Grantley then went towards the kitchen 
in advance of him, and, looking in at the open door, said — 

‘ Mrs. Darly, is this your husband, or is he a liar?’ 

She quivered and shook as he uttered the words in a cold, hara 
tone, and there came into her eyes the wild, bewildered look of the 
hunted animal, which never afterwards seemed to leave them. She 
gave one glance at the set face of her master and judge, and, seeing 
no pity there, shrank back into a corner of the room, covered her 
blanched face with her trembling hands, and faltered out — 

‘Yes, he is my husband. Oh, what shall I do! what shall I 
do ! ’ 

There was something so imploring and piteous in the gesture 


252 PAVING THE WAY 

and voice, that Grantley’s heart smote him, and he gently 
answered : 

‘ Do not be frightened — no one shall hurt you ; but as this man 
says he believes you will return to him, I have thought it only 
right he should have the chance of seeing you and hearing your 
reply.’ 

Her face rose from her hands with repugnance in every line 
of it. 

‘ Never ! Never again ! I loathe him, loathe him more than 
any living thing, or death itself. Mr. Grantley, you can never 
know half what I have suffered from that wretch, or you would 
have pity.’ 

The husband had stood silent until now, when a fierce gleam 
shot from his dark eyes as he retorted in a sullen tone — 

‘ Civil words, mistress, if you please. I can make you go if I 
like.’ 

‘ Oh, no ! no ! ’ she wailed, ‘ not alive, at any rate. O that my 
mother had been in her grave before she made me marry you, and 
I with her ! I will throw myself and the children into the river 
rather than go one step with you, for you are not a man but a devil, 
sunk in the lowest depths of self-degradation.’ 

Her aspect grew sublime. Her form rose erect as passion 
mastered fear and she denounced him ; while fury gathered over 
his swarthy features, and the cruel lips drew tighter as he snarled 
out — 

‘ It is a lie ; you married me of your own free will. But since 
you are such a vixen, stay with Darly and be his plaything until 
he grows tired and beats you, as he surely will. Only I must have 
my boy.’ 

The child was standing a little way off, gazing with wondering 
eyes at the scene, though too young to comprehend its purport. 
The man stepped towards him to pick him up, but with a swift 
movement the mother anticipated him, and snatched the child 
away— 

‘ You shall not even touch him. He is mine. Go, in mercy go, 
and leave me in peace. Have you not made me endure enough 
already ? ’ 

‘ Give me the boy — by law I have the first right to him ; other- 
wise I prosecute Darly.’ 

It is truly said that the most timid creature will fight in defence 
of her young. 

She turned upon him, a steadier look in the frightened eyes, a 
firmer resolve on the white lips, though her whole form trembled. 

‘You will never have the child while I live ; and you shall not 
injure Darly ; he is good and kind to me as you never were.’ 

Then with a cry of appeal — 

‘ Oh, Mr. Grantley, have you no pity ? Will you not save me 
from this fiend ?’ 

Her whole manner had made it so manifest to Roland that she 


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You damnable scoundrel, make one movement and you are a dead man, 


A MURDEROUS OUTRAGE 


253 


was a wronged and outraged woman, that he had softened in his 
judgment and all but acquitted her. At her appeal he interposed 
and said to Cowler — 

‘You have had the interview I promised, evidently with no 
success. Now go, and if you want redress seek it by legal means ; 
you shall not distress her further.’ 

‘ Well, fetch Darly ; I must see him. Then I will go.^ 

Not fathoming the villain’s motive, Grantley moved towards the 
house with the intention of sending Peerton for Darly. He had 
only gone half-way when piercing screams rose behind him, and, 
turning, he saw the ruffian rushing in at the kitchen door, toma- 
hawk in hand. Not even in that desperate last rush for life at 
the Murray Mouth, when the savages were close behind, did 
Roland’s feet fly faster than now. Almost in a bound he was back, 
and heard at the same moment the thud of the first blow. There 
the murderer stood with his axe raised to strike the cowering form 
a second time, while his victim shrank in the corner with her 
arms uplifted to protect her head, uttering the wildest shrieks of 
terror. 

Grantley threw himself upon her assailant and tore him away 
from her. Then began a struggle between the two. Cowler was 
armed, while the squatter was weaponless, but the latter had his 
arms locked round the former, pinning his hands down in a firm 
hug. Once the villain shook himself free, and the tomahawk, 
aimed at Roland’s head, descended with murderous force, but he 
caught the handle in his left hand just in time. He felt the hot 
breath of his opponent on his face, as they strained together in 
the desperate strife. The next moment they swayed and fell 
violently, Grantley uppermost, his right hand grasping Cowler’s 
throat, and his knee on his chest, while, with a fierce light in his 
eyes and a stern frown on the resolute brow, the words hissed from 
his set teeth — 

‘ You damnable scoundrel, make one movement and you are a 
dead man.* 

The fellow’s eye quailed. He had raised the tomahawk for an- 
other blow, but Roland wrung it from his grasp; then he threw his 
arms back upon the floor muttering — 

‘ Do with me as you will ; I have done what I intended.’ 

Grantley, divining what he meant, glanced up, and, as he beheld 
the moaning woman huddled against the wall, with her long hair 
hanging loose and the blood streaming down it from a gaping 
wound in her head, while her arms yet moved as if to ward off the 
pitiless blows, he thought, ‘ You have indeed accomplished your 
fiendish purpose.’ 

He looked round for help, and at last saw the wide-open eyes of 
the little black girl, Miola, peeping in at a crevice between the 
slabs of the wooden building. 

‘ Run and tell Mr. Peerton to bring the handcuffs,’ he said. 

The overseer soon came, and in a moment, with grim satisfaction 


254 


PAVING THE WAY 


Grantley snapped the irons on the ruffian’s wrists and ordered him 
outside under Peerton’s charge. Then he lifted the wounded 
woman on to a couch aud examined her injuries. Much to his 
relief, they appeared not so serious as he anticipated, though the 
cut on the top of the head was deep and bled freely. She had by 
this time recovered consciousness and complained of great pain, 
murmuring with her face as white as if death were already upon it 
— ‘ Oh, my head, my head 1 ’ 

He gently washed the blood away and bound up the wound with 
wet bandages. This done, she grew more composed, and begged 
that Darly might be sent for. 

‘ But, Mr. Grantley, don’t let the men meet, or there will be 
murder yet,’ she added. 

Miola had already been despatched for him, and, as he would 
certainly hurry down, the prisoner was sent out of the way, Peerton 
looking as if he hoped he would attempt to escape, that he might 
have an opportunity of knocking him on the head. Perhaps Cowler 
was aware of this, or else he felt escape hopeless, for he made no 
further resistance. He seemed utterly crestfallen and sullenly in- 
different to his fate. He only said when he heard that his wife had 
recovered consciousness — 

‘ If it had not been for Mr. Grantley, all would have been over 
with her, curse him ! ’ and a black scowl came over the evil face. 

Roland heard the expression, and turned upon him with wither- 
ing contempt — 

‘You are baffied in a deliberate attempt to commit murder, for 
which you deserve hanging. At the best you are a miserable 
scoundrel, whose threats or curses are of no more account than 
your last night’s promises. You are too despicable to be worth 
the killing ; I thought so when my blood was up and my hand on 
your throat. Only a cowardly cur would use a tomahawk on a 
woman. Take the wretch away.’ 

Without answering a word, the ruffian was marched off before 
Peerton to the other side of the station buildings and out of sight. 

He had scarcely disappeared when Darly came on the scene. 
Roland met him at the threshold and said — 

‘ A scoundrel has attempted to murder your wife, but I think she 
is not seriously hurt. When you have seen her, you had better 
come to me; I shall be in the house.’ 

The man was much agitated, and merely replying, ‘ Yes, sir,’ he 
went into the kitchen. 

Though the worst signs of what had transpired were cleared 
away, there was still enough remaining to make a man who loved 
the woman who lay there, pale and apparently almost lifeless, with 
a bloody bandage round her head, feel that the first object in 
existence for him was to crush the life out of the fiend who had 
thus injured her. Darly quickly comprehended all as he saw the 
corner where she had sunk down still splashed with her blood. 

‘Oh, Bert,’ she whispered, ‘he would have killed me only fcr 


A MURDEROUS OUTRAGE 


255 

Mr. Grantley. I thought he would be sure to murder the master 
with that awful tomahawk.’ 

‘ I ’ll tear the dog limb from limb,’ muttered the enraged man. ' 

‘ No, dear, you must not. I have made Mr. Grantley promise 
that you shall not meet, unless you give your word that you will 
not touch him.’ 

‘ I can,’t keep my hands off him,’ said he. 

‘Ah, but you must. It’s bad enough as it is, without making it 
worse. We ought to have told the master after all his kindness. 
He would never have turned us away then ; but perhaps he will 
now that he finds we have deceived him.’ 

And the little woman became so agitated that Darly was ready 
to promise anything. 

‘ Don’t fret yourself,’ said he, when she was more composed ; 
‘ Mr. Grantley is not the sort to let that make any difference now, 
I ’ll lay my life on it.’ 

‘ Oh, Bert, wasn’t it good and brave of him to risk his life unarmed 
in that way? We can never be thankful enough, can we, to him?’ 

‘ Never, and I ’ll tell him so ; but now you must be quiet.’ 

‘ Well, promise to let that fearful man go ; perhaps he will never 
trouble me again.’ 

‘ I ’ll tell him that if ever he does I ’ll wring his neck, though I 
have to follow him round the world to do it.’ 

Then he left her and sought his master. 

‘ Mr. Grantley,’ he said, and his voice trembled, ‘ I will never 
forget what you have done for me to-day.’ 

‘ Say no more,’ was the quiet reply; ‘ I should be ashamed of 
myself if I had done less. It would have been better if you had 
told me sufficient of your story for me to have prevented this, but 
I suppose neither of you liked doing so. You might have trusted 
me, however.’ 

‘ I wish to God we had, sir. She wished it, but I could not bring 
myself to the point, though I thought of it many times.’ 

‘Well, never mind that. The question is, what are we to do 
with the villain now we ’ve got him ? I have almost promised the 
poor woman he has nearly killed to let him go, but I have not 
said I won’t tie him up to yonder fence and flog half the life out 
of his cowardly body first.’ 

‘ I have promised her,’ replied Darly with slow reluctance, ‘ not 
only to let him go, but to lay no hand upon him. She says she 
would rather die than go into a court and have her life raked up.’ 

‘ Then it appears we are a pair of soft asses,’ said Grantley with 
grim humour, ‘ and, as usual, a woman must have her way. Still, 
1 have not given up the fence or the whip. Come along — we will 
see how he likes the prospect.’ 

The prisoner stood leaning against a tree, with Peerton on guard 
beside him, and as the two men approached he threw a furtive 
glance at Darly and then bent his eyes on the ground. Roland 
walked close up to him and said — 


PAVING THE WAY 


256 

‘ I suppose you know you have not quite succeeded in killing your 
wife, though you tried your level best, you treacherous dog ; but 
you Ve done enough to get you seven years’ imprisonment, if I hand 
you over to the police.’ 

‘ Do your worst,’ was the sullen answer. 

‘ It ’s rather difficult to decide which is the worst. The shearers 
up yonder would gladly toss you into the river. There is some one 
here,’ indicating Darly, ‘ who would like to have five minutes alone 
with you. For myself^ I incline to stretching you against that fence 
and giving you fifty with the stock-whip.’ 

The words were spoken in a calm, mocking tone, but the flashing 
eyes told that the speaker’s composure was only assumed. Cowler 
shrank under them, and at last whined out — 

‘ Let me go, and I ’ll never come back again.’ 

‘ I ’ll take good care, if you ever do, that a fitting reception awaits 
you,’ replied Grantley. 

Just then his wife tottered up, weak and fainting. 

‘ Please let him go,’ she cried. 

‘ I am a magistrate,’ he answered coldly, ‘ and it is my duty to 
hand the criminal over to justice, and yours to give evidence 
against him.’ 

‘ I cannot, I cannot,’ she wailed. ‘ I should die of shame. You 
are very, very hard, Mr. Grantley.’ 

Without a syllable in reply, he signed to Peerton to take off the 
handcuffs. 

‘ Go,’ he said to Cowler, ‘ and be thankful to the woman you 
have injured ; for by Heaven, but for her, you would scarcely have 
escaped with half your skin on.’ 

Completely cowed, the ruffian slunk away through the trees, 
while the four silently watched him. 

When he had disappeared, Grantley turned to the wife and said: 

‘ The Christian doctrine of forgiveness is lost on such as he. 
“ An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life,” is the only 
gospel for a nature like that. Don’t you think you have done a 
foolish thing?’ 

‘ 1 have done what I thought right,’ she replied, as Darly took 
her in his arms and bore her into their room. 


CHAPTER V 

Roland’s responsibilities increase 

‘I SUSPECT I shall see that fellow again some day,’ observed 
Roland reflectively to Peerton. 

‘ And when you do, you had better be prepared for the worst, 


ROLAND’S RESPONSIBILITIES INCREASE 257 

was the reply ; ‘ for if ever one man meant to be revenged upon 
another, he does on you.’ 

‘ It ’s not a remarkably pleasant reflection that the evil scoundrel 
may be prowling round any day or night ; but I daresay I shall 
manage to sleep in spite of it. Now, let us be off to the shearing- 
shed. Darly must stay with the little woman, of course.’ Great 
had been the excitement among the shearers and employees 
generally on hearing of the attack upon Mrs. Darly, and consider- 
able indignation was manifested at her assailant having been 
suffered to escape. None, however, expressed this opinion to 
Roland, much less openly blamed him. On the contrary, from 
the tone of the conversation on the ‘floor,’ they evidently felt 
great admiration for their master’s courage. Only one individual 
at the station, a Mr. Thomas Hazle, ventured to plainly declare 
his disapproval. He was an old friend, staying as a guest at the 
station, where he was always welcome. His temper was as un- 
satisfactory as the liver that caused it, and his manner blunt, 
honest, and outspoken. He was tall and somewhat stout, though 
with thin legs and very drooping shoulders. His features were 
irregular and even plain, and his face habitually wore a decidedly 
cross expression. In short, he was emphatically a cross-grained 
old gentleman — for he was fully sixty — and yet withal a true friend, 
and to those who understood him a pleasant companion. There 

was no polite fencing with him. ‘ I consider you were a d d 

fool, Grantley, not to knock that fellow on the head with his toma- 
hawk, when you had him down ; I would have done it,’ said he. 

‘ I don’t doubt it,’ replied Roland ; ‘ but then I am not such a 
bloodthirsty, impetuous old ruffian as you are.’ 

‘ Maybe you ’ll live to regret it. You won’t have such another 
chance. No one could have blamed you. As it is, that scoundrel 
will very likely repeat his attempt when you least expect it. From 
what Peerton tells me he means to be even with you yet’ 

‘ Possibly you are right, but somehow I did not feel the slightest 
temptation to kill him at the time. Probably I should if a sirnilar 
occasion recurred. Anyhow, I am glad of it now. Perhaps it is 
because my liver is all right. I took some anti-bilious pills last 
night.’ 

‘ You may try to make a jest of it, but it ’s a devil of a mistake 
to let such a splendid opportunity of disposing of a dangerous 
enemy slip.’ 

‘ Quite so,’ said the other ; ‘ I suppose I have not got the true 
fighting instinct. Still, if there had been another fellow ready for 
me, I might have met your views by tapping the recumbent ruffian 
on the head with the convenient tomahawk ; but as there was not, 
and the solitary foe had given up hostilities, why, giving quarter 
struck me as the correct thing to do. I had not time to consider 
the inconveniences that, according to your ideas, will follow.’ 

‘You would exasperate a saint,’ retorted Hazle; ‘but for the 
woman’s sake, as well as your own, you have acted like an idiot.’ 

R 


PAVING THE WAY 


258 

‘ Well, that never occurred to me. If I had knocked him on 
the head, she might have married Darly and all would have ended 
happily. Another instance of a good play spoilt by the stupidity 
of a clumsy actor.’ 

* Leaving this part of the matter, which I consider you made 
such a mess of, firstly by not braining the wretch when he was in 
your power, and secondly by letting him go at large to murder you 
at his leisure,’ said Hazle, ‘what are you going to do with the 
couple themselves ? ’ 

The cynical smile left Grantley’s face, and he answered quickly, 
‘ I will reply to that question by asking what you would do in my 
place. You know the woman ; you have heard from what passed 
between them something of what he made her suffer. In short, 
you understand the circumstances. Would you turn her away ? ’ 

‘No, I ’d be d d if I would,’ was the emphatic reply. 

‘ Neither will I, whatever may be the consequences to myself,’ 
said Roland. ‘I have had to judge between her and her husband, 
and have already acquitted her! ; and, so long as she likes to remain 
in my employ, to the best of my ability I will protect her.’ 

And he did, never by word or sign allowing her to think that he 
regarded her with less respect than in the days when he believed 
her to be a wedded wife living with her husband. 

Grantley was not a man who invited advice or interference, and 
few of his neighbours ventured to broach the subject. There was 
but one woman within a radius of many miles, a good, motherly 
creature of mature age, who conceived it to be her duty to expostu- 
late with him. 

‘Send her away,’ she saidj ‘an unfaithful wife ought not to be 
allowed to remain on a respectable station like yours. No sin can 
be worse. Besides, you should think of the dreadful consequences 
that may follow.’ 

‘ I think of nothing,’ he replied, ‘ except that she is an unhappy, 
injured woman, who relies on me for protection.’ 

‘ She has no claim on you, and has already brought danger and 
trouble, which only by the mercy of God have not cost you your life.’ 

‘ She has this claim, that I have saved her life, and I feel I have 
thus an interest in her that no stranger could inspire. No ; so 
long as she desires to stay, she shall. Neither will I constitute 
myself her accuser or judge. I am not without sin myself, that I 
should cast the first stone.’ 

‘ You are a young man, and, depend upon it, are doing a foolish 
thing, which you will yet repent.’ 

‘As to the first, yes ; as to the other, no. My sympathies all go 
with the weaker — the woman tied to a repulsive, inhuman ruffian, 
from whom there is practically no release except by the mode she 
has adopted. Of course, good women and happy wives must draw 
close their immaculate skirts, lest they touch such as the little 
sinner who is under my roof ; but, as I and those with me are far 
beyond the possibility of further contamination by even hardened 


ROLAND’S RESPONSIBILITIES INCREASE 259 

evildoers, it would be rank hypocrisy to affect to fear it. Besides, 
I honestly believe she is the best of the lot of us.’ 

What could be done with such a man ? The fair adviser returned 
home with very mingled feelings, in which an unacknowledged 
admiration for Grantley’s conduct was not absent. ‘ I hope it will 
end well,’ was the only conclusion which she, with many shakes of 
her matronly head, could arrive at. 

For months after the events above narrated, arms were kept 
loaded on the station, and on no occasion was Mrs. Darly left 
without at least one man with her. No tidings were, however, 
heard of Cowler, and gradually the apprehension that he would 
make another attack upon her grew less. 

Edgar Peerton was appointed manager of Purndal on the 
Queensland border, now sufficiently developed to carry a large 
number of sheep. The aboriginal outlaw and patriot, Baldy, had 
not come in from his fastnesses ; but, though obdurate to all the 
white intruder’s overtures, he never gave any further trouble. His 
countrymen shepherded the flocks with due diligence and care, 
and were of the utmost value in carrying on the general work of 
the new station. For a considerable period after its formation, 
Grantley paid frequent visits to superintend operations ; but, find- 
ing that the rapid increase of stock on Moolahalla made greater 
demands upon his attention, he left more and more to Peerton as 
time went on. 

So some two years passed over without any stirring occurrence, 
and there was every prospect of the young squatter becoming a 
very rich man. Both sheep and cattle had multiplied fast under 
the favourable conditions of recent seasons. 

‘ Only let it continue a little longer, and I will sell out and let 
the next man make the big pile,’ he said to Hazle, who had 
returned after a long absence to pay him another visit. 

‘ Quite time too,’ replied that candid friend, ‘ or you will grow 
into a shocking cross old man, judging from what I have seen of 
your temper lately.’ 

‘ What is the matter now ? ’ said the other. ‘ I ’m not angelic, but 
I do manage to control myself somewhat. If I want to lick a 
nigger I can wait to get a whip, and not waste in my passion a 
good leg of mutton by thrashing him with it.’ 

Mt’s a base exaggeration,’ retorted Hazle hotly; ‘the mutton 
was not wasted ; I made the beggar take it as part of his rations 
when I had done with it.’ 

‘ Well, I daresay he did not object to the flavour imparted to it 
by your energetic application of it to his person ; but don’t you 
think you are a nice old man to pass reflections on another’s 
temper ? ’ asked Roland. 

‘ Suppose we drop the subject. You are a devil to argue, par- 
ticularly when you haven’t a leg to stand on. By-the-by, I ’m told 
you are going to build a new house, and that Darly has taken the 
contract for the job.’ 


26 o 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ That is so/ said Grantley, ‘ and they will be leaving in a few 
days to begin cutting the timber.’ 

‘ What about another cook ? You will never get one half as good 
as the little woman.’ 

‘ There is a fellow in the men’s hut going to take the billet.’ 

‘That scoundrel with the squint eye?’ asked Hazle, ‘ and the 
extremely dirty hands ? ’ 

‘ I ’ve not observed any peculiarity in the latter respect about him 
— indeed, regarding the hands, they all seem much alike ; but there 
is no doubt about the squint. Miola, the black girl, has become quite 
proficient, and can keep the house clean.’ 

‘ But what about the food ?’ said Hazle. 

‘ What the eye doesn’t see — I suppose you know the rest.’ 

‘ I don’t think I ’ll prolong my visit more than a few days under 
these unexpected circumstances ; I fear the grub will be execrable.’ 

‘ Make up for it with the liquor,’ suggested his host ; ‘ I despise a 
man whose deity is enshrined in his digestive organs.’ 

‘ Ignoring your last remark, I admit that you have put the matter 
in a more alluring light, and I will reconsider my determination 
to depart from your hospitable roof.’ 

‘ Which means that you will stay as long as the liquor lasts.’ 

‘Or you turn me out,’ said Hazle. ‘None the less, I am truly 
sorry the little woman is going, and I ’ll go and tell her so. Her soup 
was divine.’ 

****** 

There had been no rain for many months, and there was every 
appearance of the drought continuing — at least so said the weather- 
wise. Strong drying winds swept over the country day after day, 
evaporating the waters with a rapidity that appalled the stock- 
holders. The grass was withered up and pounded into dust under 
the feet of the cattle and sheep, who had to come long distances to 
drink. These were the old shepherding days, when fencing was 
unknown and the runs were not so heavily stocked as subsequently 
when enclosed, and when they much sooner became barren wastes. 

It may be safely said that, when the flocks were driven daily from 
the folding-yards to and from grass and water, more food was de- 
stroyed than eaten, and that under that primitive system the 
country could not sustain half the number it afterwards did when 
the animals roamed at large. It became evident that, unless 
rain fell soon, the desperate course would have to be adopted of 
discharging the shepherds and turning the flocks loose on the open 
run. Bad as was the outlook at Moolahalla, it appeared to be 
worse at Purndal. Peerton wrote : — 

‘ I don’t think the water will last a month; and if we delay until 
then, it is probable that the roads will be closed and we shall not be 
able to get the sheep away at all. The responsibility is greater 
than I like to undertake. It is for you to see for yourself and 
decide what is to be done. Stay, and chance rain falling in time 
to save the stock ; or travel them at once.’ 


ROLAND’S RESPONSIBILITIES INCREASE 261 


‘ There is a comforting sort of a letter for a man to receive,’ said 
Grantley to Hazle. 

‘ He ’s a matter-of-fact beggar, that Peerton,’ replied the latter, 
‘ and has put that about as concisely as pen and ink will do it. 
You’re between the devil and the deep sea.’ 

‘ I must start up without delay and settle the knotty point, and by 
the time I return here there will be much the same problem to face.’ 

‘ It can’t be denied that you bloated squatters (that’s the coming 
phrase) do get a gruelling occasionally,’ observed Hazle ; ‘ but then 
you ought to have left the country to the black fellows ; it ’s only fit 
for them.’ 

‘You are as true a specimen of a Job’s comforter as a fellow in 
a hole could desire ; but I suppose you will remain here till I get 
back, and keep things together a bit ? ’ said Roland. 

‘ I ’m like your sheep, in a dilemma between bad grub (your 
new cook ’s awful) on the station and maybe worse on the road. 
My horses are as poor as South Australian crows ; you know they 
are starved and hunted out of there, and have come up here to be 
out of danger, poor things. Of course I ’ll stop and do my best 
during your absence.’ 

‘ I ’ll consider that a bargain,’ said Grantley, ‘ and start to- 
morrow night, taking Jollyboy and the three best horses with 
me that can be got in. There are ninety miles without water, and 
in the hottest January I have ever experienced even in this in- 
fernal climate ; that is serious enough.’ 

‘ So it is,’ returned Hazle ; ‘but you are young, hard as nails, and 
about the coolest card in a difficulty that can be found in many a 
day’s march. Besides that, you ’ve never got a thirst, which may 
be an advantage where there are nearly a hundred long miles to 
cover without a drink, but which is a deplorable misfortune where 
the liquor is as good as this and there is plenty of it.’ 

Here a rather tall native girl entered. Her colour was not 
black, but, as is sometimes the case with the full-blooded natives, 
of a rich, tawny brown more resembling the hue of the Red Indian 
than that of the negro. The texture of her skin was velvety, and 
the bloom of her cheeks flushed through like the blush of her fairer 
sisters. Her hair, unlike the usually straight locks of her people, 
curled crisply round her face, the two most prominent features in 
which were her splendid glistening white teeth and large, spark- 
ling bright eyes. Her figure, though far from perfect, was well 
formed, and her whole appearance both striking and pleasing. By 
no means the least of her charms was a voice soft and musical as 
the sweetest notes of one of her country’s birds. It was the little 
native girl, Miola, grown almost to womanhood. Neatly attired in 
a loose-fitting print frock of her own making, she stood silently in 
the doorway waiting to be addressed. 

‘ Well, Miola,’ said Grantley, ‘ I am going to the Paroo to- 
morrow. You had better tell the cook to get something ready 
for me.’ 


262 


PAVING THE WAY 


There was this peculiarity about Miola, that, though her master 
was the only white person on the station who could speak her 
native language fluently, she spoke to him alone in pure English. 

‘ The blacks say,’ she replied, ‘ that there is no water, and that 
you will die. Some people are dead on the road now.’ 

‘ Very likely they are,’ he answered, ‘ but I am not going to be 
one of them. Is that all you have come to tell me ?’ 

‘Do you know that Mrs. Darly has got a “piccaninny,” a little 
girl, and she is very ill, and they don’t think she will live ? ’ 

‘ Who ?’ broke in Hazle — ‘ the mother or the child ?’ 

‘ I said the mother,’ she answered, still looking at and address- 
ing Grantley as though he were alone. 

‘ I am very sorry, Miola,’ he said ; ‘ but is it so bad as that ?’ 

‘The old women say so,’ she replied. ‘The baby was born 
yesterday, and she is getting worse. Can’t you do anything for 
her ? ’ she added in an appealing tone. 

‘ I am afraid, my girl, that my knowledge and experience in 
such abstruse matters are extremely limited.’ 

‘ I don’t understand that English,’ said Miola : ‘ why don’t you 
speak plainly ? ’ 

Hazle laughed. 

‘Tooluc murray imba’ — (literally ‘very bad you’) — retorted 
Miola quickly. 

‘You see,’ said Roland seriously, ‘ I am not a married man, and 
don’t know anything about babies and their mothers.’ 

‘ Well, you know what to do and doctor ewes when they have 
lambs and are ill ; you got plenty medicine in the store,’ she 
persisted. 

‘ God bless me, what am I to do in a quandary like this, with 
such a girl ? ’ cried the young man. 

‘ She ’ll die, if you don’t do something, and that will be a great 
pity,’ urged Miola. 

‘Here is Mr. Hazle — he’s the father of a large family, and 
knows more of such things.’ 

‘ He’s no use,’ she replied with infinite contempt ; ‘you are the 
master and know best.’ 

‘You are a good, kind girl, Miola,’ he said gently, ‘and if I 
could help her I would ; but I cannot — I don’t know how.’ 

‘But when old man Jack’s lubra had her perlo (child) you gave 
her some physic which cured her. Why can’t you, now that one 
of your own country is ill ? ’ 

‘ Miola, your logic is too much for me. I ’ll see Darly and talk 
to him about it.’ 

Not half satisfied, the girl departed, her faith in the ability of 
the master to cope with every emergency evidently greatly shaken 
for the time. 


A DROUGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 263 


CHAPTER VI 

A DROUGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 

At the hour appointed, Grantley took his departure mounted on 
the Star, still full of life, though his condition showed the effects 
of the bad season. After leaving the last water, a small spring 
some thirty miles from Moolahalla, late in the evening, he travelled 
on part of the night and then camped. It was a calm, hot night, 
and, as it was necessary to watch the horses to prevent them 
straying too far to admit of an early start in the morning, he 
obtained little sleep. At peep of day Jollyboy was roused and 
a hearty breakfast partaken of. The sable attendant then brought 
up the horses, and a movement was made. By some means a pair 
of handcuffs were left, or so insecurely packed up that they were 
lost on the road before the next halt. Roland had always carried 
these and a revolver on his journeys, never knowing when they 
might be required, as the blacks were occasionally troublesome, 
and they served to overawe the turbulent. Then there was always 
the chance of Cowler turning up at the least-expected moment. 

Lately, too, a considerable amount of bushranging had been 
prevalent, though not within a hundred miles or so of Moolahalla. 
Could Grantley have foreseen the important part the loss of these 
fetters played in what followed, he would have been still more 
annoyed at his carelessness, and would probably have risked 
retracing his steps through the dry stage for the purpose of 
recovering them. All that day, with the exception of an hour’s 
camp, when the scorching heat was at its highest, they travelled 
on, and late at night reached the water. The country was in a 
miserable condition ; grass had all but disappeared, and what was 
left was devoid of nourishment for the unfortunate animals that 
had to subsist upon it. The hardy bushes of Central Australia, 
principally of a saline' character, that appear to live, and often 
even thrive, without moisture, were withered and dying, or already 
burnt up and dead. The larger trees were dropping their leaves, 
as if despairing of life, in common with the rest of nature. Birds 
there were none ; even reptiles and insects were few in number ; 
but carcases of horses, cattle, and sheep strewed the roadside, 
and not these alone, for poor humanity contributed its quota to 
the festering remains. 

In one place a large flock of travelling sheep had attempted to 
cross a long distance without water, and had perished in thousands, 
lying in heaps under the scattered shade of trees and bushes, where 
they had lain down to escape something of the scorching heat of 
that pitiless sun. Not many miles from what, at that time, was a 
fine hole of water, though now it was a mere basin of fast-drying 
mud, the whole flock had been seized with that obstinate deter- 


PAVING THE WAY 


264 

mination not to move which neither dogs nor men can shake. In 
the pioneer days of young Australia it was so often asseverated, 
that it grew into a belief, that an efficient bullock-driver could 
swear his team out of any ordinary bog, or other difficulty ; but no 
flood of oaths of doubly concentrated power was ever considered 
of the slightest use against the passive resistance of the mild 
jumbuck. It was an ugly sight for the uninterested passer-by ; 
but to the owner those rotting heaps meant ruin, and told a tale 
of blighted hopes or, it might be, even worse. 

Roland Grantley, with his ever-cheerful companion, had passed 
all these, which gave him abundant opportunity to ponder upon 
the obstacles and dangers which must attend any attempt to move 
his own flocks. When camped that night by the water, his re- 
flections were of an essentially bitter character. There were 
several travellers waiting there for the long-expected rain, all of 
whom deprecated moving without very good horses as nothing 
less than courting a miserable death. Numerous tales were told 
of loss of life within a few miles of the reservoir at which they were 
staying. One man said he had seen the bodies of two black 
fellows dead of thirst, but the experienced knew that the aborigines 
were too intimately acquainted with their country to meet such a 
fate. It was simply the result of that sun of fire which had burned 
the skin of two unhappy dead Europeans to blackness. 

From some natives Roland learned that the waters of Purndal 
were failing fast, as indeed was the case all up the creek. They 
scouted the idea that any of their countrymen had perished of thirst. 

‘That one stupid walk-about white fellow, bale black fellow,’ 
was their comment when spoken to on the subject. 

Travelling slowly, he occupied two days more in reaching his 
destination. He was too well aware of the necessity of husband- 
ing the strength of his horses to push them, knowing that in all 
probability he would require them not only after his arrival, but 
also for the daily increasing difficulties of the return journey. 
Everywhere were to be seen the ravages made by the drought, in 
stock dying and dead ; and clouds of dust enveloped those that 
trailed long distances back from water, where some vestiges of 
food remained. His own run seemed in no better plight. Between 
the boundary and the head station there was no water left ; and 
even there, in the usually splendid creek, less than three feet of 
water was the record of the morning measurement. 

‘ What about other parts of the run ?’ he asked Peerton. 

‘ In not a single hole is there more than here ; but it is holding 
out well, considering the intense heat. In some cases I have, 
according to your instructions, been able to empty smaller shallow 
holes into deeper ones, and so save evaporation. But now I see 
nothing for it but to look on, unless you decide to travel the 
stock.’ 

‘ Down the creek is impossible,’ said Grantley. ‘ I suppose we 
can go up yet ? ’ 


A DROUGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 265 

‘Yes, by making long stages ; but the feed is bad and the loss 
certain to be great,’ replied Peerton. 

‘ I never have travelled for feed,’ said Grantley, ‘ and won’t begin 
now if I can avoid it ; but “ needs must when the devil drives.” 
How are we off for feed on the other portion of the station ? There 
is about as much as you can put in your eye and see none the 
worse, where I came up.’ 

‘ In parts out back there is plenty, but it is as dry as tinder, 
except in some places, where the bush is fairly green.’ 

‘ Have many niggers come in from the back-country, dried out? 

‘ Lots,’ answered Peerton ; ‘ and, among others, some of the 
Pernowries ; but they are in a deuce of a funk lest our fellows kill 
them. They seem to come and get a supply of water, and then 
clear out back for a time. I heard the other day that they had to 
leave a couple of women behind the last time. It appears this 
tribe laid wait for and caught them.’ 

‘ Paying toll, I suppose,’ observed Grantley ; ‘ the old story of 
the weak and the strong, intensified by the hate of the uncircum- 
cised for the circumcised. Queer those back-country beggars 
should practise something like that old Jewish rite. I ’m too tired 
to moralise. By-the-by, how is the rugged old hero, or rogue, 
BaldyP’ 

‘ He ’s just about the same. I am told he won’t have the Per- 
nowries slaughtered or their women abused ; perhaps he has an 
eye to the future, when the far-out country may be a necessary 
refuge for him,’ replied Peerton. 

‘ In this instance,’ said Grantley, ‘ he draws the line at rape. 
Ah, well ! men with better reputations than Baldy haven’t done that.’ 

The sun rose again like a ball of fire, as it had done for weeks 
past ; and as the squatter walked to the stockyard to inspect the 
horses, the utter hopelessness of the position could not but strike 
him. In the whole mob there was not one animal in fair working 
condition. The gallant Star was by far the best, though just off 
a trying journey. 

‘ A sorry lot to start with on these roads after weak sheep,’ he 
thought. 

He met an ancient aboriginal, and accosted him in tones of 
assumed anger, ‘ Stupid devil black fellow, bale makum rain, 
jumbucka, bullocka, yarraman tumble down.’ 

‘ All about tumble down,’ echoed the noble savage with a broad 
grin. 

At this ready confirmation of his worst anticipations the much- 
exasperated owner kicked the grinner into a becoming seriousness, 
and then went back to breakfast on lean mutton-chops. 

All that day, and for several succeeding ones, he walked or rode 
over the run, judging the position for himself, and still determined 
to defer to the last moment the desperate expedient of travelling 
his sheep. He knew the loss must be enormous, whereas if he 
could hold on without moving them it would be comparatively 


266 


PAVING THE WAY 


light. Men were employed in sinking temporary wells in the drift 
of the creeks, and in some cases a fair amount of water was found, 
but it rapidly failed when drawn upon. Day by day the reserves 
grew lower under the combined effects of a blazing sun, furiously 
hot, drying winds, and the apparently insatiable thirst of thousands 
of sheep and cattle. Then came a dawn of hope ; thick, heavy 
clouds began to collect in the brazen skies, only to disappear, 
however, without discharging their contents. For three or four 
days they grew blacker and more like rain ; then, when a few 
drops had fallen, they cleared off again, and the following morning 
broke, disclosing as bright a canopy as the sun’s rays ever poured 
down from upon the panting earth. 

‘You had better give the word to move,’ expostulated Peerton 
that night ; ‘ the rain has all passed off, and there is not more than 
enough water to give the sheep a really good drink before they 
start.’ 

Grantley took him to the door. 

‘ Do you see that small black cloud rising over the forest to the 
north ? ’ he asked. ‘ Ever since I have been here all the clouds 
have come up in the daytime. I believe that little spot is the 
sign of a storm. I shall wait and see.’ 

Later in the night the cloud spread, dull and leaden, over the 
heavens, and thunder echoed in the distance. Still no rain fell, 
and the day opened fine and sultry. 

‘ There has been a storm on the upper boundary in the night, 
Edgar ; send up and see,’ said Grantley. 

It was unnecessary ; long before the horses came in, a black 
fellow appeared at a trot with the glad tidings that a good water- 
hole was filled and the creek running. 

‘I know perfectly well what old Hazle will say,’ remarked 
Grantley. 

‘What is that?’ asked Peerton. 

‘A fool’s stupid obstinacy is often better than a wise man’s 
wisdorn ; that will be the substance of his flattering comment on 
my action, or rather want of it, since I have been here.’ 

The next day, and again the next, there were several heavy 
thunderstorms, and all cause for anxiety passed away. Roland 
was now busily occupied fixing sites for future water conservation, 
so that similar risks should not be incurred in the future. While 
thus engaged he was somewhat startled by the sudden appearance 
of a sergeant of police and five black troopers of the Queensland 
force. Grantley knew the officer, and accosted him with the 
words — 

‘Good day, sergeant. Blackbirding on forbidden ground 
again, eh ? ’ 

‘ No ; lam not after any of your protigis this time. It ’s birds 
of another feather ; but perhaps you have not heard there has 
been an affray between bushrangers, supposed to be Thunderbolt’s 
gang, and the New South Wales police on the Warrego. Sergeant 


A DROUGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 267 


M‘Cabe was shot dead and a trooper wounded. One of the 
freebooters is certainly hit, but they escaped, and have been 
tracked over here. I expect to strike their trail out back on the 
road a little, unless they have been seen about here, which would 
save the time and trouble of going to search.’ 

‘ This is the first I have heard of it,’ said Grantley ; ‘ but perhaps 
they came into the creek lower down.’ 

‘ I think not ; I am told they were making straight here. Can 
you put me on the Warrego road ? I hope to catch them before 
going far out of my beat, otherwise I shall give it up.* 

‘ I ’m your man for the rest of the day,’ said Roland. ‘ I never 
cared about it when you were hunting the poor devils of niggers, 
but it ’s another matter when your quarry is these white scoundrels.’ 

In the edge of the forest, beyond the margin of the plain, the 
quick eye of the leading trooper detected the tracks of three 
horses. He saluted and pointed them out to the sergeant. It 
appeared that, immediately on sighting the station, the band had 
halted and then turned away to the left down the creek. The 
trail was plain, and the trackers followed fast, one a little in advance, 
with another on either side some distance out, so that, if the 
middle tracker got thrown off the scent, one of those to the right 
or left would be certain to pick it up. The remainder of the 
party rode behind, all alert to play their part should occasion 
arise. Presently there was a pause, and the foremost trooper 
showed the officer where the wounded man had sat down, appar- 
ently to have his injury dressed, as there was dried blood on the 
ground. 

‘ They passed along yesterday early, but I may pick them up 
yet,’ said the sergeant. ‘ Push on, men.’ 

‘ I expect these fellows will give a good account of them, if you 
succeed,’ observed Grantley, with a glance at the eager black 
bloodhounds. 

The officer smiled. ‘ They will have to shoot well, if they are 
to beat my men off,’ he said ; ‘ but I fear they know we are after 
them, and will not stop long enough for me to pull them, with the 
start they have.’ 

‘ I am going down myself in a few days,’ replied Roland ; ‘ it 
would be a comfort to know the ruffians were safely out of the 
way.’ 

‘ I daresay ; particularly as you have a horse there they would 
be sure to covet.’ 

‘ I don’t think they will easily catch me, if I have the chance of 
showing them a clean pair of heels. Now, good-bye, and please 
God you may get them quickly,’ 

This, however, they did not do, notwithstanding that with un- 
failing skill the trackers followed on, often at a fast trot, from day- 
light to dark, when they were compelled to camp until morning. 
The men they were chasing knew this, and travelled part of the 
night, so that the distance separating the parties never greatly 


268 


PAVING THE WAY 


decreased. At the lower Paroo the tracking became more difficult, 
and, being far beyond the limit he originally intended going, the 
officer reluctantly abandoned the chase, and gave orders to return. 

Meanwhile, Roland Grantley had completed his arrangements 
at Purndal, and, leaving Edgar Peerton in high spirits on account 
of the changed condition of the run under his charge, he turned 
his face towards Moolahalla. 

‘ I sincerely hope it has had a share of the rain too,’ he said, as 
he shook hands with his friend ; ‘ but it is not likely, as we hear of 
none down the creek, so I shall probably still have my hands full 
before the final break-up of the drought. I would send some of 
the sheep here if the road were open, but a hundred miles of 
howling wilderness is not to be spanned by weak sheep in these 
fearful summers.’ 

‘ It strikes me,’ replied Peerton, ‘ that you must be careful how 
you attempt it with horses scarcely fit to travel. Hadn’t you 
better spell them here for a week before going ? they would carry 
you safely home in half the time then.’ 

‘ No, I ’ve been too long away already. Good-bye.’ 

Once on the road, Grantley was eager to be home. He knew 
quite well his presence was urgently demanded, for all had been 
accustomed to depend on him alone, and his absence had been 
prolonged considerably beyond the period originally allotted. 
Still, the effect of the first day on the horses plainly indicated 
that their strength must be carefully nursed, or they never could 
go through the long, waterless stage. The indomitable Star him- 
self was little more than bones and muscle ; and, though his spirit 
carried him on at the head of the party with much of his old 
springy stride, his rider felt he was really very weak. Fully 
conscious of the risk he was incurring, Roland instructed his two 
black boys, Jollyboy and another who rejoiced in the appropriate 
name of Ugly Billy, to inquire of all blacks they met if partial 
thunderstorms had broken, leaving water in any direction that 
would shorten the wide interval of dry country. They would go 
across country, leaving the roads, if necessary, to obtain water and 
grass. 

Riding slowly, on the third evening they arrived at the last 
water and camped until late the following afternoon. No abori- 
gines were there, but during the morning Jollyboy and Billy 
heard from some higher up the creek that a shower had filled a 
small waterhole twenty miles lower down right by the track, but 
it might be dried up ; and, if so, there was plenty at Windolee, a 
larger basin several miles out of their course. 

Relying on these reports, Grantley considered further caution 
unnecessary, and determined to push on at a faster rate ; and so, a 
little water-bag having been filled, the party started. ‘ There is 
sure to be a green spring at the water,’ he thought, ‘ and we will 
camp there till daylight, or, if the feed is good, even later, for the 
sake of these poor wretches of horses.’ 


A DROUGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES 269 

Thick darkness had fallen before they reached the spot, only to 
find that not one drop of the looked-for element remained, or 
apparently had been there for days past. Bitterly disappointed 
at such an unlooked-for result, the question now arose what was 
to be done. The boys reiterated that there was certainly water at 
Windolee, and pointed out that rain had fallen where they then 
stood, and, according to their informants, fell much heavier at that 
place. They had positively stated there was abundance there, 
and Jollyboy was confident he could find it in the dark. Seeing 
nothing better to be done, his master reluctantly gave the word to 
lead on. 

They now found the water-bag had leaked out the whole of its 
contents, but, though annoying, this little mattered, if fresh sup- 
plies were to be obtained at Windolee. Roland’s reflections were 
not pleasant. It seemed so probable that, if one hole had failed, 
another might also. As he rode on, there was nothing to indicate 
that any weight of rain had fallen ; ‘ in which case we shall have 
made a mess of it,’ he mused. He minutely watched, by observing 
the stars, that the boys kept a straight course, and allowed them to 
continue on. At length they drew up. 

‘This one close up Windolee,’ said Jollyboy; ‘mine think it 
camp. Supposing water sit down, that one yarramen (horse) 
make-a-light himself. You see plenty yapunya (kind of eucalyp- 
tus) that long creek all same Windolee.’ 

‘ All right camp, but mine think it no water,’ replied his master 

‘ Yes, water long, more further,’ persisted the boy. 

There was nothing else for it but to wait till morning; but 
Grantley’s heart misgave him when he saw the horses made 
no movement. They fed for a while on some miserable bushes, 
which appeared to satisfy them, and then stood still during the 
rest of the night. 

As soon as the lingering daylight permitted, the squatter’s fears 
were verified. To look for water there was worse than hopeless ; 
nothing could be more arid. No wonder the horses had stirred 
so little, for, except a few nearly dead sticks of ‘ old man ’ salt 
bush, there was literally no kind of vegetation less in size than 
the eucalyptus. 

What was to be done now ? Retrace their steps to the last 
water, or make a bold attempt to cross the long, dry stage to the 
spring, and so homeward ? Roland put it to the boys, telling them 
that years ago he buried two bottles of water at the ‘ Marked 
Tree,’ which he thought he could find. For himself, he must and 
would go on, but if they chose they might turn back. At first they 
hesitated, and asked if he thought the horses capable of carrying 
them through. On being told that he did not doubt it, provided 
they rode very slowly, they promptly decided to accompany him. 
They had seen too much of their master to question his judgment, 
but their faith quickly received a rude shock. After proceeding a 
few miles, the pack-mare knocked up and refused to go any 


270 


PAVING THE WAY 


farther. Dismounting from the Star, Grantley unsaddled and 
let her loose, putting a few of the necessaries on each of the 
other horses. Then with an encouraging smile he said — 

‘No yarramen to lead now, my boys, me and you pull away 
balara (well).’ 

Steadily they went on, making straight across the open country 
for the marked tree, the heat becoming more intense and the 
poor animals more jaded as each hour passed by. Roland led 
the way thus far, the others following at their own pace. At last 
they approached the spot, the well-known tree showing up on a 
small sand-rise. Leaving his horse under the shade of some 
overhanging boughs, Grantley walked to the place where he had 
buried the bottles two years before, perhaps with an instinctive 
feeling that it would some day be more priceless than gold. 
Laboriously he dug with a stick, taking the utmost precautions 
not to break the glass. At length he found one bottle, but, alas ! 
not full ; it had been laid on its side, and was either never filled or 
had leaked. Three parts of the precious contents were there, 
however, and, as he held it up, the two expectant black faces 
brightened. Loyally he divided it, only taking the first drink 
himself, and then they finished it to the last drop. Never was 
nectar sweeter or more welcome. The other bottle could not be 
discovered. It may be there to this day, and some poor unfortu- 
nate, all unknowing of its proximity, may lie down to die within a 
few inches of the draught that would save his life. 


CHAPTER VII 

BUSHRANGERS AT WORK 

Mr. Hazle was not having a good time at Moolahalla,both sheep 
and shepherds giving him much trouble, as the manner of their 
kind is when a temporary chief is in command. Under such 
trials the old gentleman’s temper not infrequently boiled over and 
vented itself in volleys of abuse. This was resented by both whites 
and blacks. From Grantley it would have been submitted to as 
in some measure his right, to which it was their duty to listen, 
particularly as he rarely gave way to fits of passion ; but that 
a comparative stranger should usurp an owner’s privilege was 
unendurable. 

It was exasperating to Mr. Hazle, on the other hand, that he 
could scarcely ever go out to count sheep without discovering 
that some had been lost. This was generally followed by the 
delinquents adopting an injured tone. 


BUSHRANGERS AT WORK 


271 


* Send out another man ; I ’m not going to put up with this any 
longer, where a man isn’t treated as a man.’ 

Probably there would be a further torrent of complaints on the 
part of the injured innocent, and the despairing Hazle would 
return home in a storm of vexation. Much of this trouble was, 
of course, attributable to the state of the country. All the back- 
vvaters were dried up, the sheep having to be brought in to the 
river to drink, and the grass along the frontage for miles had 
nearly all been swept off by travelling stock. As a natural con- 
sequence, there was greater difficulty in keeping the flocks together. 
He found that for him to attempt to do the amount of work 
systematically carried through by the energetic and untiring 
owner was to tax his capabilities too far. His orders, too, were 
not executed with the promptness and despatch that invariably 
attended Grantley’s briefest mandates ; and this became latterly 
so apparent and annoying, that he cursed the day when he under- 
took the responsibility. Added to these disagreeables was the 
anxiety he felt respecting Mrs. Darly’s health. He had always 
felt a sincere friendship for her, and when Roland left he went 
to Taila Bend to ascertain if he could be of any use. She was 
then delirious, and calling almost incessantly on Darly and 
Grantley to save her from Cowler ; but her case was not then 
considered at all hopeless. There were intervals, indeed, in which 
the improvement appeared so marked that reports came to the 
station that she was recovering fast. Miola was most assiduous 
in her attentions, and went up nearly every day to assist and 
inquire what was wanted that the resources of the house could 
supply. 

More than three weeks had passed since Grantley’s departure, 
when one evening the girl came and told Hazle that the poor 
woman was very much worse. That same night she died, and the 
troubled spirit was at rest at last. Truth to tell, she had never 
recovered from the blow and the discovery that attended it ; too 
sensitive to bear the consciousness that her unhappy history was 
known, with all its unmerited suffering and shame. When her 
troubled life was drawing to its close, the delirium left her, and 
she asked for Mr. Grantley. On hearing that he was far away, 
she told Darly to thank him for the gentle kindness with which he 
had never ceased to treat a poor, sinning woman, when most men 
would have cast her out. 

‘ He saved my life at the risk of his own,’ she whispered, ‘but 
that was not half so much as protecting me ever since. Tell him 
that I died thanking him.’ 

Then she told Bert Darly he must take the children to her 
mother, and with a few incoherent words she passed away. Who 
shall say that much may not be forgiven her, for she loved — and 
suffered — much ? 

The day after, she was buried beside the other unfortunates who 
gave up their lives on Moolahalla in the early days. On the 


272 


PAVING THE WAY 


sandhill they lie, the strong men cut down in their strength and 
prime, the worn and toil-stricken. Among them is the grave of 
the solitary woman and young mother. Who shall judge her? 
Certainly not the rugged men who have gazed on that last resting- 
place ; for of them there is none, knowing the tale of that unhappy 
life, who would not answer at the final bar for her sins rather than 
his own. 

This sad event affected Mr. Hazle profoundly, and in pondering 
over it he almost forgot his accumulated station troubles. He even 
felt it some relief when Darly left with the children, which he did 
the day after their mother was buried. A mournful episode in life 
seemed ended then, and might be cleared up, if not forgotten. In 
cities such an incident would excite but a passing interest ; but in 
the remote bush, where you yourself are one of the players and 
witness each move in the game, it is very different. The mere 
casual contact with such events, where men do congregate, makes 
no lasting impression ; but in nature’s lonely haunts the mark left 
is so indelible that it may tinge a lifetime. 

******* 

* That old man white fellow Scotty losum jumbuck, Misser 
Hazle.’ 

The time was early morning, and the words proceeded from a 
cleft in a flat black surface, round in form, which surmounted a 
scraggy body without any particular shape. This was perched 
on two attenuated sticks, that could scarcely truthfully be de- 
nominated legs. The flat, or rather irregular, surface, which a 
closer examination demonstrated to be a human countenance, 
had only one eye, and that not worthy of the name, except as 
an extraordinary illustration of what nature can accomplish when 
the fit is on her. That any power of vision should reside in the 
knobbly, patched-up organ of many colours was inconceivable ; 
yet by some means it was so. In a moment of playful sarcasm 
Grantley, in his capacity of general namer, had bestowed on this 
object the title of Prettyboy. In ignorance of the meaning of the 
mockery, the recipient at first was supremely proud and happy ; 
but later, when a glimmering of the truth dawned upon his 
benighted mind, a rankling sense of injury possessed his soul, 
and threats of absconding were frequently made, unless a more 
fitting sobriquet were conferred. 

He had pushed open the door, and now stood by Mr. Hazle’s 
bedside. 

‘You are a nice sort of apparition to set one’s eyes upon first 
thing in the morning in this year of our Lord 185—,’ growled the 
white man. 

‘You make haste get up ; look out that one jumbuck. Plenty 
dingo (wild dog) sit down; Misser Grantlee big one sulky, 
supposin’ dingo pium (kill them).’ 

‘You dirty, jabbering baboon!’ shouted the exasperated old 
gentleman, ‘ shall I go after them in my night-shirt ? ’ 


BUSHRANGERS AT WORK 


273 

* That one Scotty yabber mine pull away yabber you, losem all 
about jumbuck,’ persisted Prettyboy. 

‘You’ll lose your life, let alone your beauty, if you don’t clear 
out of this,’ roared Hazle, hurling a boot at him. Seeing that 
the atmosphere had become electrical, the zealous messenger 
departed. 

‘ Not one wink of sleep all night from the cursed mosquitos, 
and then my beauty-sleep broken in upon by that abortion ! It ’s 
simply / 

Grumbling thus, the aggrieved superintendent slipped into his 
garments in that sort of temper that is frequently described as 
the result of ‘ having got out of bed on the wrong side.’ Scarcely 
was this accomplished, when a quick step sounded on the verandah, 
and he found himself confronted by a revolver at full-cock pointed 
straight at his head, while a rough voice said in imperative tones — 
Bail up, or I ’ll blow the roof off your head ! ’ 

The old gentleman looked at the levelled weapon and the 
bushranger who held it, with a steady eye. 

‘ Fire away,’ he said, ‘ I had just as soon die as live.’ 

The unexpected reply for a moment surprised the outlaw, then 
he replied — 

‘ Promise, Mr. Hazle, that you won’t in any way attempt to 
interfere with us, and I ’ll not trouble you.’ 

‘ All right, I give my word. It is the business of the police to 
take you, not mine.’ 

‘ You must send for the horses, though, and we shall help our- 
selves to what we want out of the house and store.’ 

‘ You have the power to do just as you please, I can’t prevent 
it,’ said Hazle. 

‘ We require breakfast too,’ demanded the man of the bush. 

‘That I would give to any one,’ was the curt answer. ‘Now 

we understand each other, suppose you lower that d d thing. 

It might go off, you know, quite unintentionally.’ 

‘ You are a cool one, Mr. Hazle, and neither I nor any of us 
have a quarrel with you so long as you keep quiet.’ 

The two walked together to the front of the kitchen, where the 
station men were drawn up in a row against the wall, an armed 
man, who might at once be recognised as Cowler, standing on 
guard over them. Two others had gone to the blacks’ camp and 
were marching them down in a body. The surprise had been 
sudden and complete, no time or opportunity having been afforded 
for communication between the whites and the natives. 

‘ Where is my wife ? ’ demanded Cowler, as Hazle approached. 

‘ Dead and buried.’ 

‘A good thing for her,’ rejoined the ruffian ; ‘ I heard I would be 
too late to give her what I meant. And Darly, I want him ?’ 

‘ Then you must go down the river ; he left with the children.’ 

‘ Curse it, what bad luck ! all my friends are away. Now no 

d d lies,— when is Grantley to be back?’ 

S 


274 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ That I can’t tell, for I don’t know.’ 

‘ You must know when you expect him,’ and the revolver was 
pointed at Hazle’s head. 

‘ I have expected him for a week past,’ he replied. 

‘ Do you know what I would have done with him if I had 
caught him ? Taken him out into the back country and left him 
tied to a tree for the crows to eat.’ 

Here the tall, dark man, apparently the leader, who accompanied 
Hazle, broke in — 

‘ Send one of the black boys for the horses, and order the cook 
to get breakfast, and, while that is being prepared, we will search 
for fire-arms and ammunition.’ 

By the time these necessaries of the bushranger’s vocation had 
been obtained and the cash-box had been rifled, the repast was 
ready and was heartily partaken of by the freebooters. This 
over, the one styled by his fellows ‘ captain ’ ordered a couple of 
bottles of spirits to be brought out. 

‘ That won’t hurt us,’ he said, ‘ as I mean to give all hands a 
drink for standing quiet so long.’ 

When it came, he handed a glassful round to each man and 
divided the remainder among his band. 

‘Tell Mr. Grantley,’ he remarked in a jocose tone, ‘that his 
liquor is A i. Also express my regret that he was not at home, 
as all of us have a little account to settle with him, my friend 
Cowler most of all. There come the horses : now, Mr. Hazle, 
I expect you to point out the pick of the mob for our use.’ 

On reaching the yard, it was evident the leader needed no 
assistance in the selection of horses. He immediately pitched 
upon Hazle’s own favourite hack, as being the best in condition, if 
not in quality. 

‘Don’t take that,’ the old man exclaimed ruefully, ‘it’s my 
property, and I am going on a journey shortly.’ 

‘Very well,’ was the unexpected reply, ‘then tell me which four 
you recommend. I am a gentle thief, am I not ? ’ 

‘The most polite I ever met, or ever expect to meet,’ returned 
Hazle. ‘ Now if you can ride well, that colt is the pick of the lot. 
He is broken in, but bucks.’ 

‘ I ’ll try him,’ promptly declared the man of daring deeds. 

The animal was with some trouble caught and saddled ; then, 
with all the address of an accomplished horseman, the captain 
mounted and gently put him into motion. At first the colt moved 
quietly off, then, suddenly throwing his ears back and his head 
down, he in horsey parlance ‘ set to work.’ There was no pre- 
tence about it. Steed and rider were fairly pitted against each 
other, and, for the few minutes the struggle lasted, it seemed that 
no mortal man could retain his seat on top of that plunging circle, 
for such was the form into which the horse threw himself. Pre- 
sently, apparently satisfied with the result, the colt straightened 
himself and stepped proudly on. 


BUSHRANGERS AT WORE 


275 

‘ I like him,’ said the bushranger, ‘ but he don’t suit my business. 
He would always be unsafe with fire-arms.’ 

Then dismounting without being in the least put out, he took 
off his saddle and bridle and again began minutely examining the 
others. 

Eventually, after much close criticism, he chose four, one for 
each of his band. On these they mounted, and, leaving those 
they had been riding, they departed, the leader observing as he 
rode off— 

‘ Let the boss know that we hope he will like our old screws as 
much as I am sure we shall our new mounts.’ 

When they had gone, Mr. Hazle made an entry in his pocket- 
book to the following purport : — ‘ Cowler & Co., dr. to Roland 
Grantley. Four horses at £20 per head. One double-barrelled 
gun at £15. Two revolvers at;^io. Ammunition at ;^3. Cash 
jjiy, los. Sundries ;^5. Total 140, i os. ’ 

‘ I am inclined, gentlemen of the road,’ said he, ‘ to fancy that 
the proprietor of this establishment will scarcely think he has 
received a fair equivalent for this amount, and, as he is a man 
who rather looks to reaping where he has not sown than scatter- 
ing favours broadcast, it is probable he will on some day of reckon- 
ing require a balance to be struck not agreeable to you. Possibly 
this memo, may be of use to remind him what the precise 
indebtedness amounts to. That Cowler is an atrocious scoundrel ; 
luckily he is kept under by the tall, civil fellow, or we might have 
fared worse. I shall be a bit sorry to hear of the big brute being 
hanged, though he did stick me up at first, but, by the Lord, I ’d 
go fifty miles to see that snarling dog triced up. In fact I ’d do 
it myself and eat my breakfast directly after with an improved 
appetite. Prettyboy, you and me go on look out walkabout jum- 
buck, make haste gettum yarraman (horses).’ 

‘ Bale (no),’ said that sable servitor, ‘ too much plenty bush- 
ranger. That one big one sulky shootem mine. To-morrow mine 
think it catchem jumbuck.’ 

Leaving the irascible Hazle to kick the pusillanimous Prettyboy 
into a proper state of subjection, we will follow the bushrangers. 

For two hours they rode silently up the river on the north side, 
and then the leader, who was a short distance in advance, halted 
until the others joined him. A few words passed between them 
and they parted, the tall man saying to Cowler — 

‘Jack, of course, goes with you, to make the matter sure, for 
if he gets the chance he will fight like hell. I don’t care what you 
do with him, but don’t hurt the Star, whatever happens, and 
don’t fail to bring him.’ 

‘ I ’ll both serve Grantley as I said, and bring the horse too,’ 
replied Cowler with an oath. 

‘ We shall wait at the camp till you join us, and mind, if you fail 
in any part of the plan so that suspicion is likely to be excited, 
don’t delay, but follow at once.’ 


276 


PAVING THE WAY 


Cowler and Jack now struck out from the river into the back 
country, and after about twelve miles came to a shepherd’s hut, 
with an iron tank standing near. Cowler rode alongside it and 
looked in. 

‘ More than half-full of water,’ he said, ‘ as they told us. This 
will do us and the horses splendidly, if the “ covey ” is not too 
long coming.’ 

‘ How do you know he will call here ?’ asked Jack. 

‘ Well, we can’t be sure, but it ’s most likely, as this is the first 
water after leaving the spring and on the short cut to Moolahalla,’ 
answered Cowler. ‘It’s so cursed hot he is sure to call for a 
drink, and, as he had the tank filled, he knows it ’s here. He ’ll 
come right enough, but I am afraid he will bring a blasted black 
boy with him, and that would spoil my plans.’ 

‘ He rides so d d hard that, on these long journeys,’ said Jack, 

‘ he nearly always knocks up all but the best horse, and then he 
leaves the boy behind at the last camp to come on next day with 
the crawlers, and rides home by night himself.’ 

‘ He ’ll wish he hadn’t this time, before I ’ve done with him,’ 
muttered the other savagely. ‘ We will bring the bucket inside 
the hut, so that he is bound to come after it to water his horse. 
Hobble the nags over that big sandhill out of sight, though, if he 
should see them, it won’t matter much. He will only think they 
are out with station-hands. We must lie close in the hut, and, 
directly he rides up and dismounts, bail him up.’ 

‘That’s the plan,’ laughed Jack, ‘it ’s a good ’un, and will catch 
the bird, I make no doubt.’ 

‘ It can’t fail if he comes in the night, but it’s just possible he 
may smell a rat in the daytime, seeing tracks or something dis- 
turbed about the place. He ’s so devilish fly ; yet I choused him 
finely once.’ 

‘Though he afterwards got the best of you, about your old 
woman ! ’ said the irrepressible youth. 

‘ It ’s the first and last time he ever will, and, by God, I ’ll square 
it all now and more too.’ 

‘ Agreed,’ assented Jack. ‘ I ’ve no love for the proud boss ; he ’s 
too hard and stand off for my liking. And the captain said we 
were to get the Star, whatever happened.’ 

‘ And so we will, and I ’ll have my revenge into the bargain,’ 
sulkily answered Cowler. ‘Follow my plan, and we will have 
both horse and man.’ 

‘I’m on,’ replied the reckless youngster. ‘Now as the nags 
won’t drink any more, I ’ll short-hobble them in the hollow beyond 
the rise, where there is always good grass, while you make our 
camp in the hut.’ 

From these preparations on the part of this pair of ruffians, it 
will be seen that Roland Grantley had a warm reception awaiting 
him, if his unlucky stars led him that way. 


'BAIL UP !’ 


277 


CHAPTER VIII 

* BAIL UP ! ’ 

We left Grantley and his two native companions in sorry plight 
at the Marked Tree. About three parts of a bottle of water divided 
among three thirsty men was not a very copious draught for a hot 
day in January, after riding for thirty hours without water in a 
blazing sun. Their horses were so tired and weak that they 
stopped under each shade, if allowed, and it became a necessity 
to stay until the greatest heat of the day had passed. This they 
did, but, when some hours had elapsed, the animals became so 
restless that a start was made. They had now a road to follow, 
and travelling was considerably easier, the jaded horses for a 
while progressing at a fast walk. Gradually, however, they 
dropped back to a slow crawl, and again began to halt beneath 
every miserable tree to seek shelter from the flaming god of day. 

As he was leading the Star along a little in advance of the 
others, Roland noticed a sickening smell, and there, a few yards 
on one side under a bush, lay one who never more would know 
the horrors of thirst. Nearly naked, and blackened by the fierce 
rays of the awful sun, he lay on his back as he had met his death 
of unutterable anguish. Leaving his startled horse, the squatter 
stepped to the side of the unfortunate. Yes, he recognised the 
short form, the partially bald head, and fringe of beard. Only a 
few weeks before, this man had left Moolahalla to spend his 
cheque. This had been accomplished with even more than the 
usual celerity and, while in an incipient stage of delirium tremens^ 
he and his fellow- workmen had attempted the long dry stage, only 
to perish. On the breast of the corpse lay the common silver 
watch he had worn in life, a certain proof of identification, if any 
were needed. In that parched, waterless wilderness there was no 
living thing to feed upon the dead, except the nauseous insect 
creation. They were the scavengers — they, the withering wind 
and the scorching sun. 

A little distance off the wayfarers came to the carcass of the 
perished wanderer’s horse, its throat having evidently been severed 
in a vain endeavour to assuage the rider’s consuming thirst. Yet a 
little farther on was stretched the tall form of a man who in life 
had been of unusual height. In this case all the clothing was cast 
aside, and the long, spare, sinewy limbs were extended on the dark 
ground, with the skin drawn tight and hard. The face was all 
twisted and distorted with the agonies those only can experience 
who suffer the protracted torment of yielding up their lives to the 
demon of thirst unaided and alone in the summer heats of Central 
Australia, 


278 


PAVING THE WAY 


The two black boys looked and echoed their master’s verdict, 
‘ the Thrasher,’ the title by which the poor wretch had been 
known among his boon companions. Near him too lay his horse, 
which had also been compelled to surrender his blood to his 
owner’s dire need. 

To the experienced bushman there was no difficulty in reading 
the whole story. The lost men did not know the road, and when 
their thirst came upon them, in their ignorant impatience they 
believed that most of the journey was traversed. ‘Those trees in 
front are on the water ; a good gallop and we shall be there ; 
let us see who can go fastest. . . . None there! Well, to the 
right, that clump we have missed is on the creek. No sign of 
water there! Away to that other then! None again!’ And 
now seriously alarmed they race their horses without judgment, 
until they are exhausted and finally refuse to move. The same 
amount of exertion, calmly and systematically applied in steadily 
proceeding straight on, would have enabled them to reach a place 
of safety. The cool, brave bushman refuses to be flurried himself, 
or to push his horse beyond an easy pace. No delusive groves of 
stunted trees, magnified into luxuriant beauty by the mocking 
mirage, entice his stern and steadfast soul from the beaten track, 
and what he knows to be the true direction. So Roland led 
forward his followers. But now strange fancies seemed fitfully to 
possess him as he toiled on. 

Far in advance, on either hand, there appeared to his dis- 
tempered imagination to be floating two gigantic spectral shapes. 
Ever, as he slowly progressed, the twain converged. It was by 
such slow degrees, and yet so surely, that their meeting on the 
road before him was as certain as death. When they joined, a 
dread at his heart told him that his fate was sealed. Presently 
his mood changed, and it even amused him to watch those 
demoniacal shadowy forms closing in. Every step shortens the 
distance to the spring ; stride on, brave old Star. O for but two 
hours of unimpaired strength ! how this interminable expanse of 
plain and floating haze would pass behind, and those menacing 
horrors that ever drew nearer fade away ! Night was coming on, 
hot, sultry, and oppressive, yet cooler now that the remorseless 
orb of day had been compelled to sink his scorching face. Was 
that a whiff of air ? The Star opened wide his nostrils and 
started on with an almost eager spurt. Presently they mounted 
the Big Sand-Hill, and far away across the wide plain, beyond 
sight in that mist or dust, lay the haven of rest and safety, the 
spring. 

The great horse snorted with relief, and gathering his strength 
together broke into a trot. At that triumphant snort of the 
Star Roland’s spirits rose again. Over the confines of the level 
land to the left and right the apparitions were reluctantly retiring ; 
once nearly shut in by them, the road now showed broad and 
open. A cool night-breeze whispered hope and joy. On 1 on ! 


‘BAIL UP1‘ 


279 


Why suffer longer from this parched throat and distended tongue? 
The horse struggled from a trot to a canter ; the rider yielding 
himself to the generous impulse of the gallant steed that had so 
often borne him from the very jaws of death. 

The fountain is reached at last, and, plunging in, horse and 
man realise the delights of nature’s most glorious draught. Led 
on by the Star, the others followed hard after and soon they too 
were drinking as if their thirst were unquenchable. Then the 
worn-out beasts were turned loose and the riders sank down and 
slept for long hours a dreamless sleep. Up rose the sun in all 
his burning power, but the weary travellers merely staggered to 
the nearest shade to lie down and continue their sleep. Late in 
the morning they roused themselves. The horses had come back 
to the water, and when they had drunk Grantley ordered the boys 
to take them out to where he knew there was good pasture. His 
energy was already chafing at the inaction and urging him to 
finish the journey and get to work again ; but until the Star had 
not only rested, but fed, he felt it would be cruelty to proceed. 

Much of the remainder of the day was spent by the blacks in 
sleep, while Roland impatiently watched the shadows decrease, 
till the fierce sun drew to the zenith and then lengthen again 
tardily, as he gradually sank towards the West. Then Ugly Billy 
was despatched for the Star, and Jollyboy was instructed that 
they were to remain behind to give the weak horses a spell till 
the morrow. This was indeed very necessary, for with the ex- 
ception of his own steed, the horses were in miserable condition 
and would require nursing to take them through. 

‘ To-morrow night you camp long Bulpura and water yarraman 
at tank,’ said Grantley. ‘Then ’nother day pull away Moolahalla. 
Supposin’ Star very much tired, mine camp Bulpura to-night.’ 

Thus spoke he, little suspecting that no other alternative would 
be at his disposal. He is indeed playing into the hands of his 
foes by going forward to-night and calling at Bulpura, the 
shepherd’s hut where they are awaiting him. 

‘Plenty dark to-night,’ answered Jollyboy, the faithful; ‘bale 
road long Bulpura. Which way make-a-light, bale (no) star, bale 
whycheuca (moon), plenty mulga.’ 

Roland smiled ; ‘All right, Jollyboy, mine bale stupid.’ 

‘ You see that one mountain,’ said the boy, pointing to a hill 
three or four miles distant, ‘plenty “ Mulla” (evil spirits) sit down 
there ; big one dark, that one come up long road catchem you. 
Mine thinkit you and mine and Billy mate mate (all together) 
pull away to-morrow. Supposin’ you yan (go) to-night you tumble 
down (die).’ 

But though Jollyboy was evidently alarmed and persisted in 
his warnings against the dreaded ‘ Mulla,’ who, according to him, 
would assuredly be flying about on such a wild night as it 
promised to be, Grantley was not to be deterred from his purpose. 
Mounting just as the sun disappeared, he bade his attendants 


28 o 


PAVING THE WAY 


good-night, and the Star set his proud head resolutely home- 
ward with the long even stride that showed he meant business, 

‘ It’s going to be a dismal ride, old boy,’ soliloquised Grantley, 
‘and I shall be quite content to meet with no worse or more 
unpleasant experience than an encounter with “ Mullas,” bad as 
Jollyboy undoubtedly believes them to be.’ 

He had not proceeded more than five miles when the Star, 
on rising a low sand-hill, lifted his head with a snort of terror and 
gazed steadily at something to the left of the track. It was now 
pitch-dark, so that Roland could distinguish nothing distinctly ; 
but, urging his horse on, he presently thought he saw a moving 
object. Then the Star stopped and protested as vehemently as 
any intelligent animal could against nearer acquaintance with 
that dim outline ; but his rider was not to be denied, and, rather 
than force his good steed, dismounted and led him forward. 
The moment he did so the mystery was solved. The moving, 
indistinct, shadowy object was suspended from the limb of a tree, 
and swinging gently to and fro in the strong night-wind that 
swept across the plain. The dreadful odour, the shape of that 
long thing drawn black against the dull sky, told beyond a doubt 
to the traveller’s beating heart that he was once more brought 
directly in contact with death, though in another form. Control- 
ling himself with an effort, Grantley felt for his matches and, 
striking one, set fire to a few leaves and twigs which lay to his 
hand. On the ground was some portion of a bushman’s swag, 
his empty ‘billy-can’ telling its tale of the torments of thirst, 
which had culminated in this desperate deed of self-destruction. 
A couple of straps had served his purpose and he had but to step 
on that stump to affix the end to the projecting branch. 

As he grasped these details, his eyes wandered in spite of him 
to the distorted face ; just then the fire flickered and failed. With 
a shudder Roland leapt on his horse and rode away. The road 
seemed strewn with dead men, each more awful and repulsive 
than the last ; he would look no more, nay he would even avoid 
the first indications of such another gruesome scene. Why had 
he not obeyed the impulse of the horse and turned from that 
appalling sight? Unstrung for the time, he shut his eyes and 
trusted entirely to the good animal he bestrode. It was not for 
long, however ; the weakness passed off, and the resolute spirit 
resumed its sway. 

To take advantage of the short cut, he had now to leave the 
track, scarcely distinguishable in the thick darkness, and strike 
for the tank so often mentioned at Bulpura Hut, for the purpose 
of watering his horse. 

‘You shall have a drink there, my boy,’ he said, ‘if we are only 
clever enough to find it in this impenetrable blackness, and it 
shan’t be my fault if we don’t.’ 

Carefully noting the lie of the ground and each tree he passed 
sufficiently close to observe, and keeping the wind on his chee]^ 


‘BAIL UP!' 


281 


for an hour, he felt confident of having continued in the right 
direction so far. Then the breeze smote him on the other cheek 
after dying away for a space ; and again it came as before, only to 
veer round to every quarter of the heavens, till it finally died away 
into absolute stillness. 

For a considerable time he felt positive he was keeping the 
correct course, though the contour of the country was not such as 
he anticipated, although it seemed familiar to him. Expecting 
every moment now to come across some object he would recognise, 
he proceeded, till suddenly the hoof of the Star rattled on the 
skeleton of a sheep and again on another. Immediately alighting 
and groping about, Roland soon discovered the bones of several 
rams, and knew that he was at a salt well, where a number of old 
animals had perished, two miles from the hut and tank he sought. 
Sitting reflectively on an old skeleton, it took him, however, many 
minutes to determine in which direction they lay. Having accom- 
plished this, he once more started, taking infinite pains to keep 
straight, and at length had the satisfaction of arriving at the 
desired spot. Riding up to the tank, he sprang to the ground, 
only to find the bucket gone. It should be in the hut of course, 
and, hanging the rein over a post, he went to fetch it. There it 
was, at the open door ; but as he stooped to pick it up, a rasping 
voice that sent a thrill through every fibre, said in the usual bush- 
ranging vernacular — 

‘ Bail up, or I ’ll blow your b y head off!’ and the cold rim 

of a pistol touched his forehead. 

‘No use, Mr. Grantley,’ said another voice beside him. ‘You 
must give in this time ; ’ and he felt a handcuff close on one wrist. 

Even in that moment of startled surprise the instinct of resistance 
rose strong within him. With the disengaged hand he dashed 
the levelled revolver aside, the weapon going oft* harmlessly in the 
air. Then he fiercely struggled to escape to his horse, but the 
two ruffians clung to him and, though he dragged them some 
yards, he was eventually overpowered and the second handcuff 
clasped on his other arm. The tussle had been garnished with the 
choicest oaths that bush blackguardism delights in, but there were 
still left in that extensive vocabulary numerous foul expressions to 
hurl at the captive when a fire was lighted and he was brought 
into the building. 

Roland’s stout heart quailed when he recognised Cowler ; the 
other robber was nearly a stranger. He at once saw that it was a 
premeditated and carefully planned thing, and that the men were 
a part of the Warrigo band. These too were his own handcuffs, 
lost on the Paroo Road, and by some strange freak of fortune 
found by the desperadoes and used to chain himself. Cowler 
caught his glance and divined his thought. 

‘ How do you like them ? ’ he sneered. ‘ They seem to fit you as 
well as another man, fine gentleman as you think yourself.’ 

Grantley did not answer. He had been placed at the far end 


282 


PAVING THE WAY 


of the small room so that there could be no chance of his reaching 
the door by a desperate rush. It was evident the bushrangers 
did not intend sleeping for the rest of the night. After talking for 
a while, the elder growing more ill-tempered with taunting in vain 
the silent prisoner, the two began disputing regarding their move- 
ments in the morning. 

‘You were to do what you liked with the boss,’ said the younger 
ruffian, ‘but I was to take the Star to the captain.’ 

‘ No,’ retorted Cowler, ‘you go and tell him I am bringing the 
horse when I ’ve done with the man.’ 

‘You can complete that little job without the Star ; take one of 
the others.’ 

‘ No, I won’t ; I am going to take him a goodish bit from here 
and it ’s part of my plan to take the horse too.’ 

‘ What do you mean to do with him ? I don’t like killing in 
cold blood, except it ’s the b y police ; then it ’s well enough.’ 

‘ I ’m not going to kill him, I tell you,’ retorted Cowler ; ‘ I want 
to frighten him a bit, to pay him out for his stuck-up ways.’ 

‘ I don’t mind that, and the captain gave me no orders about 
him. To settle about the Star, I ’ll play you ante-up who shall 
take him.’ 

With an oath at the other’s obstinacy, Cowler consented and 
the game began. At first, fortune or skill appeared to be nearly 
evenly balanced, but, as the play progressed, the younger man 
proved no match for his more experienced adversary. The end 
came and the winner rose. 

‘ Maybe you are satisfied now,’ he snarled, ‘ and will do what 
you ought to have done before.’ 

‘And what may that be?’ cried the young fellow, an angry spot 
showing on each cheek. 

‘ Mind your own business and leave me to mind mine,’ was the 
surly reply. 

‘ I shall be glad to part company with you anyhow, and, if the 
horse doesn’t turn up at the camp, I ’ll leave you to fight it out 
with the captain.’ 

‘He’ll turn up right enough,’ said Cowler, ‘and as daylight’s 
breaking, you’d better get the nags, while I boil the billy.’ 

The necessity for exertion restored the usual amicable relations 
between the comrades, and the youth immediately started to fetch 
the horses, leaving his companion to guard the captive and pre- 
pare their breakfast. Roland had sunk into a disturbed slumber, 
from which he was not roused until the Star’s loud neigh, as he 
welcomed his mates, reverberated through the building. Then 
looking through an aperture in the slabbing of the wall, he saw 
two of his own station hacks being brought up by the young 
bushranger. 

‘ A pair of the best goers on the run,’ he muttered ; ‘ these 
gentry appear to be making very free, not only with my person, 
but my property also. Well, perhaps my turn will come ; ’ and 



The two bushrangers gambling for the ‘Star.’ 


p. 282 






‘BAIL UPl’ 


283 

his glance at Mr. Cowler did not augur well for that worthy’s 
future happiness, if it ever did. 

The two rogues now sat down to their morning meal, the 
younger placing some food before Grantley and telling him with 
a not unfriendly grin that it was his own once and he was quite 
welcome to it now. 

With the mere instinct of his training the prisoner thanked 
him, and this somewhat seemed to touch Jack, for he became 
quite assiduous in his hospitable intentions, though the other 
watched his movements with scowling disapproval. The meal 
over, preparations were made for instant departure, each horse 
being saddled in turn, while a strict guard was kept on the 
captive. 

Then, still handcuffed, he was ordered to mount the Star, Cowler 
holding the horse by the bridle. 

The latter then got into his own saddle, and, with a word of 
farewell to his companion, took his way in towards the river. 

Young Jack moved off rapidly in the direction of the road lead- 
ing up the Darling, whistling a gay air as he went, as if there 
were not even a remote possibility of the gallows closing his 
brief career. 


CHAPTER IX 

MIOLA AND HER MASTER 

To say that Grantley, alone in the power of this remorseless 
villain, did not feel much apprehension regarding his position, 
would be far from the truth. It even struck him like the loss of a 
friend to see the thoughtless, graceless young outlaw depart and 
leave him with the man, whom of all the world he had the most 
reason to dread. 

‘Now, boss,’ said the scoundrel, ‘let’s understand each other. 
If you make the least attempt to escape, I’ll put this bullet 
through your stuck-up head. Perhaps you think you might 
gallop off, if you could get the Star away from me, and as I 
thought it possible you would try, I ’ve got this rope fastened to 
your irons and will tie it round my horse’s neck. There, I believe 
that settles your chance. You ’re a deep one, but I am too fly to 
give you a show.’ 

Roland had indeed entertained the idea of driving his heels 
into the Star’s sides, and with a shout urging him into a gallop in 
some unguarded moment, when the robber’s hold on the line was 
loose. Once free, with a few yards’ start, he was confident his 
good steed would c^rry him safely home without guiding reins. 


284 


PAVING THE WAY 


Of course there was the risk of being shot at the first movement, 
but he was nerved to hazard that. 

The cunning rogue had, however, rendered this plan quite im- 
practicable by tying him to his own horse, since to separate the two 
was to be flung incontinently to the ground and perhaps killed. 
Another mode of escape must be devised, but nothing presented 
itself to the mind of the anxious squatter. 

Meantime the bushranger steered his course lower down the 
river and shortly came into low-lying, polygonum ground with a 
thick forest of box-trees growing over it. Continuing on until the 
undergrowth was close, he came to a spreading tree in a little 
clear space. 

‘The very place,’ he muttered, and at once drew up the horses. 
Dismounting, he unloosed the line from his animal’s neck, holding 
it in one hand and a pistol in the other, roughly ordered Grantley 
to ‘ get off.’ Then flinging the rope over a limb he pulled the 
prisoner’s hands-over-head to the full length of his arms, and 
tied them there in such a manner that for him to release himself 
was simply impossible. That done, he stepped in front of his 
enemy. 

‘ Now, Mr. Grantley, when last we parted I swore that I would 
pay you out for not only foiling me in my revenge, but for every 
one of your many insulting words. You would chain me up with 
the very handcuffs you wear now and flog me, would you ? Ah ! 
ah ! it’s grand ! Yes, I swore I would tie you up out in the back- 
country for the crows to eat, and I am as good as my word ; I see 
there are a few about already. I ’d done a bit of bushranging 
before I tried to knock that little devil on the head, but I went 
back to it on purpose to get this opportunity at you. I meant to 
do it all along, but if I had told that soft young fool of a pal of 
mine, he might have split, so I put him off by saying I only meant 
to frighten you. Ha ! ha ! There couldn’t be a nicer place for 
the job ; no one ever comes this way; it’s real beautiful. I 
don’t like to leave you, but I must tear myself away. First, 
though, I ’ll hang the keys of the irons in front of you on this 
twig, just to vex you ; wouldn’t you like to get at them ?’ 

‘ You devil ! ’ said Grantley through his set teeth. 

‘Take care or you may provoke me to shoot you. I would 
enjoy a pop at you to leave my mark on your carcass, but it might 
be heard and so spoil sport. Now I ’ll say good-bye, and I hope 
the crows will enjoy your company as much as I have. Ha ! ha ! 
ha ! I ’ll come back some day to see your bones.’ 

And the monster strode to where the horses were fastened. 
He had just seized hold of the animal he had ridden, when the 
Star gave a loud snort, plunged back, breaking the rein attaching 
him to the bush, and immediately galloped off, evidently thinking 
that liberties enough had been taken with him. With a bitter 
execration, the robber sprang on his horse and followed at full 
speed. A gleam of hope shot into Roland’s despairing soul at 


MIOLA AND HER MASTER 


285 

the sight. He knew well that now his gallant steed was fairly at 
liberty he would not be caught, and, when once seen at the station 
with a saddle on and riderless, the tracks would be run back and 
he would be liberated. 

The question was, how long would they be ? If the Star went 
straight home the probabilities were in favour of his being seen 
during the day, but if the villain gave up the pursuit and the horse 
fell in with the station mob, he might stay with them and not be 
found till next morning. There was the certainty of his being 
missed, when Billy and Jollyboy arrived, but he had told them to 
stay one night at the tank, and they could not reach Moolahalla 
until late on the morrow, perhaps too late to find him before night 
fell. He felt that by that time he might succumb. No, his best 
hope was in the Star being discovered. 

It was, of course, very possible that the bushranger would return 
and finish him, but as the day wore on this apprehension passed 
off, and he became more confident of ultimate rescue. He was 
fortunately in the shade, and for a time the discomfort did not 
trouble him much, but the one posture gradually grew irksome, 
and then all but intolerable. When night fell he was hanging on 
his fetters for very weariness, almost regardless of the pain they 
caused his wrists, while just before him, not three feet away, hung 
the key that would unlock those links, if he could but grasp it 
from that tantalising twig. 

It was now evident the Star had not gone home, and doubts as to 
whether he had escaped the bushranger began to torture the un- 
happy captive. Well, at the worst, he had but to await the arrival 
of the two black boys. He would face even that long delay, and 
live to be avenged on the diabolical scoundrel who had left him to 
suffer thus. Yes, he would follow him up, and either slay him with 
his own hand, or hand him over to the police, to expiate his crimes 
on the gallows. 

Thus summoning his bold spirit to his aid, he bore with fortitude 
the dreadful pangs that racked his frame through that interminable 
night. At last day broke, and now his thirst had become a tor- 
ture ; but, buoyed up by the hope that a few more hours at most 
must bring succour, he continued to endure with a stern, impassive 
courage all his own. 

He had need of it all, for only just above his head sounded the 
ominous caw-caw-caw of the foul black carrion-crow of Australia, 
waiting for the end to tear out the sufferer’s eyes. Roland under- 
stood what the signal meant, and, as others gathered for the 
expected feast, up in the blue sky, through the sparse foliage of the 
tree, he could distinguish a moving, circling speck. It was the 
great eagle-hawk, which, with its keen sight, already espied the 
helpless prey. Roland shuddered, and nerved his stout heart 
anew. 

When morning light appeared at the head station there was a 
stir at the native camp. The milking cows had not been found 


286 


PAVING THE WAY 


the previous evening, and Mr. Hazle had cut up very rusty at the 
prospect of no milk for breakfast. The old gentleman had, indeed, 
intimated his unalterable determination to visit his displeasure 
upon the entire black sisterhood, unless the bovine dispensers 
of the snowy fluid he loved occupied their accustomed places in 
the bails, and provided sufficient for his early coffee. Miola, the 
head dairymaid, had trusted to others for the usual bringing-in 
and shutting-up of the calves, and this had, consequently, not 
been done at all. As a natural consequence, when darkness fell 
with the cows still roaming at their own sweet will over the fence- 
less wilderness, there seemed small prospect of those empty pans 
being replenished by the ordinary breakfast hour. Now, Miola 
was a very privileged person, and knew perfectly well that, so far 
as she was individually concerned, Mr. Hazle’s bark was not only 
worse than his bite, but that there would be absolutely no bite at 
all for her. But those cows were away, and must be discovered 
and brought back, if only that she might triumphantly hand the 
milk round as if nothing unusual had occurred. 

Miss Miola was, moreover, a very self-assertive and even aggres- 
sive young woman among her own people ; and though her voice 
was so sweet and low in the abodes of civilisation, as represented 
by the home-station, it could rise to quite a high key and attain to 
even a strident tone on occasion in native wrangles. 

On ascertaining the failure of her satellites over-night, she had 
vented her displeasure at great length and with considerable spirit 
— to such effect, indeed, that at the earliest dawn the whole camp 
was astir, and wives, mothers, and daughters were despatched to 
the north, south, east, and west by the imperious mistress of the 
dairy department. 

She herself started out at great speed, accompanied by a little 
sister, to the most distant point where the wandering animals 
were likely to have strayed. For nearly an hour she led on, keenly 
searching the ground with her large, bright eyes for their tracks. 
There was no sign of them, however, and she was about to turn 
back, believing the milkers must be in another direction, when 
across a plain, in some bushes, there appeared several moving 
objects. These were not the milking cows, she decided at the 
first glance, but something that drove them at once out of her 
curly pate. 

It was a mob of horses, and among them one she could never 
mistake. It was but for a moment, but she had caught a glimpse 
of the well-known white star, and surely that was the glint of some- 
thing on the back of the owner of that bright mark. On went the 
girl with redoubled speed ; and then there could be no doubt. It 
was the Star, with the station mob of horses, the saddle still on 
his back and the bridle on his head ; but where was the rider ? 

If Miola was anything she was prompt. 

‘You go back,’ she said to her sister, ‘and tell them at the 
station that the Star is here, and perhaps Mr. Grantley is lying 


MIOLA AND HER MASTER 


287 


killed somewhere. I ’ll try to find the tracks and run them 
back.’ 

It was no use the little girl saying she was afraid to return by 
herself ; the imperative maiden would listen to nothing, and 
bundled her off in double-quick time. The irate Hazle might 
whistle for his coffee, or drink it without milk ; all that she now 
thought of was the position of her master, the man she considered 
the first of either whites or blacks. The place where she stood 
was just about in the direct line from the out-station hut and tank, 
on the short cut from the Paroo road across country to Moola- 
halla, and therefore near where the Star had probably come in. 

To ascertain this she walked up parallel with the river for two 
miles, and at last cut his tracks. There was no mistaking that 
round, firm tread, especially as she, like most of the natives, knew 
the hoof-marks of almost every working horse and dairy cow on 
the station. Such knowledge saves them many a weary mile’s 
walk, as they then know at once when they find a trail if it is that 
of the animal they seek. If it is, they follow it up ; if not, they 
pass on in further search. 

Miola, therefore, was quite confident she had found the clew, 
and, hanging her neckerchief on a stick, which she forced into 
the ground, she rapidly traced the trail out. She knew the waving 
signal would quickly catch the trackers’ sight, and that they would 
at once understand it was the starting-point, and make for it. 
That done, they would quickly overtake and relieve her of the 
responsibility of running the trail. Until then she must continue 
on, like the brave girl she was. 

There were no difficulties, as the horse’s hoofs were deeply im- 
printed in the yielding soil ; but presently she was surprised to see 
the tracks of two animals, and stopped to discover where the new- 
comer had gone. It was easy to see that both horses had galloped, 
the Star in front, while the other, she promptly divined, had been 
ridden in pursuit of him. Once she observed where he had crossed 
before and the Star had passed over his footprints, conclusively 
proving that there had been a chase. She saw, too, where the 
pursuit had been abandoned and the horseman had turned away 
at right angles up the river. 

Satisfied of the correctness of these conclusions, and full of 
apprehension, Miola hastened on more anxiously than before. 
The trail was now more marked by the fact of both horses having 
passed along, and much of the way she could run. It was now 
low-lying box country, covered generally with thick ’lignum,’through 
which it was impossible to see many yards. Her heart beat quickly 
as she thought of the dreaded Mullas ; perhaps she had better go 
back to the open and wait till the men came from the station. No, 
it was daylight, and the ancient enemies of her people had long 
ago retired to their mountain fastnesses ; she would go through 
this close place to the high open land beyond. 

Resolutely pressing on, she suddenly came out into a small 


288 


PAVING THE WAY 


clearing ; and there, half-standing and half-hanging by his arms, 
was the man she sought. At first she thought him dead ; then a 
slight movement caught her quick eye, and she rushed to him. 

‘ Miola ! ’ he whispered wonderingly. ‘ Water ! ’ 

‘ No water here,’ she answered. 

Then she sprang at the rope with hot haste, tore the knot loose, 
and he sank to the ground. Those eyes of hers that took in every- 
thing had seen the key, and in a moment the fetters were unlocked 
and the lacerated wrists and numbed hands at liberty. It was 
hardly done, when the quick beat of horses’ hoofs was heard, and 
Mr. Hazle, with a couple of black'boys, appeared on the scene. 

‘ Water ! ’ cried Miola, as she rushed to meet them, and seized 
the canvas bag, filled with the cool liquid, which one of the riders 
held out to her. Grantley drank, and revived with surprising 
rapidity. 

‘Have you seen anything of that d d scoundrel, Dan 

Cowler?’ he demanded of Hazle. 

‘ Not for the last three days,’ was the reply. ‘ He and his gang 
left us then, after sticking up the station.’ 

‘ I understand it all now,’ said Roland, and apparently dismissed 
the subject from his mind. 

He was very stiff and suffering much pain, but after moving 
about a little, felt sufficiently revived to mount the Star, which 
Mr. Hazle had brought with him, and ride slowly home. Like 
the true native of youthful years, Miola, as soon as Mr. Hazle was 
in charge, had shrunk back ; but her master insisted on her being 
put on one of the trackers’ horses, telling him to walk. 

‘ I am not going to forget so soon that it was she who got me 
down from that cursed tree and saved me from further torture, if 
not from death,’ he said ; and with a few warm words he praised 
and thanked her, until the white teeth glistened and the great 
eyes glowed with pride. 


CHAPTER X 

THE LAST OF THE PARKINGEES 

During the ride to the Homestead little more was said, and that 
entirely referred to station matters. On arrival, Roland ate a light 
breakfast, and sank into a heavy sleep, which continued for the 
remainder of the day and far into the night. When he awoke, he 
appeared to be light-headed, and Hazle feared a serious illness 
would supervene ; but the strong constitution and wiry frame, in- 
ured to every hardship, triumphed, and the next day the squatter 



Grantley drank, and revived with surprising rapidity. 


p. 288 






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THE LAST OF THE PARKINGEES 


289 

assumed his wonted place as if nothing had happened out of the 
ordinary course. He made no reference to his sufferings, giving 
his orders with the same concise calmness as before ; but each in- 
dividual on the station was well aware that a day of reckoning 
would come for Mr. Cowler, otherwise he would be fortunate 
indeed. 

All pressing work having been attended to, Hazle was asked for 
particulars of the robbery. With grim humour, Grantley smiled 
at the story of the selection of the horses by the bushrangers. 

‘A neighbourly sort of thing,’ he said, ‘to save your own animal 
at the expense of your friend.’ 

‘ Self-preservation is the first law of nature, my boy, and you 
know quite well,’ returned Hazle, ‘that your generosity would 
never have allowed me to lose a horse while acting for you — you 
would certainly have insisted on my accepting another in ex- 
change ; however, I preferred keeping my own, and that gallant 
outlaw, Captain Thunderbolt, was pleased to allow it. Probably, 
if the gentle thief meets me under other circumstances, he will 
appropriate the animal without the slightest compunction.’ 

‘ And blow the owner’s brains out into the bargain, possibly,’ 
retorted Grantley. 

‘ I believe he might have done that on the first impulse, when 
we last met, if I had professed the slightest interest in the matter ; 
but nobody cares to kill a fellow who asks him to do it.’ 

For many weeks subsequent to this there were many reports 
current of stations being stuck up and of robberies of the mails by 
the same gang, but in each case these events took place far from 
Moolahalla. Though Grantley said nothing about it, he was in 
constant communication with the police, and was anxiously hoping 
that the desperadoes would approach near enough for him to join 
in the pursuit. No such opportunity was afforded him, however, 
and suddenly all sign of the band was lost. They were said to 
have left the country altogether, or at least to have gone to another 
colony, but Roland felt confident nothing of the kind had occurred. 

‘ They will turn up at our very door when we least expect it 
some day,’ he observed to a police-officer ; ‘ meantime, I have little 
doubt they are lying quiet in some out-of-the-way place in the 
back-country. I know of half-a-dozen where they may be now. 
When the rain comes, they will make it lively for you.’ 

And, after weary waiting, the blessed rain came at length — not in 
a sudden storm or gentle saturating showers, but in one unbroken 
pour, lasting three days and nights. Lakes never known to be 
filled before in the -memory of the white man, and scarcely in 
that of the black, were full to overflowing now. Creeks, billa- 
bongs — nay, even the great chasm where the noble river itself 
used to run — were flowing strong with the mere local deluge. The 
very plains themselves, but a few hours before hard, dry, and baked, 
so that they seemed to contain as little moisture as ashes straight 
from the fire, were now as soft and dripping as a wet sponge. 

T 


2Q0 


PAVING THE WAY 


Dormant nature sprang into active, buoyant, and luxurious life. 
Countless myriads of water-fowl were spread over the waters, and 
began to bring forth and multiply; and not they alone, but the 
whole feathered tribe were to be seen and heard by day or by night 
as their habit is ; alone, in pairs, or in countless thousands of the 
same species, they spread wherever the traveller passed. Animal 
life, too, abounded once more. The small bush-rats swept over 
the country like a wave and honeycombed the sandhills. Whence 
they came, or how, in such an inconceivably short space of time, 
they covered the land, was a mystery. Other strange four-legged 
creatures, tiny and curious, were to be seen daily, in addition to 
the better known denizens of the bush, all bearing their part in 
universal rejoicing at the prodigality of the great mother. 

Inanimate nature rushed into luxuriant, if brief, existence. 
Plants shot through the soil, grew, bloomed, and faded in a day ; 
herbs and grasses of the field clothed the lately arid plains and 
barren sandhills with such lavish loveliness as to fill the mind 
with wonder and admiration ; perfumes loaded the air until the 
sense of smell was wearied and oppressed. The bushes and trees 
reared their heads anew and darted out from the bare and leafless 
boughs new and vigorous shoots, which dressed them in brightest 
verdure and richest foliage. N ature was robing herself like a bride 
decked for her wedding. 

Insect-life, perhaps, showed the most astounding increase : 
they flew, they crawled, in the blazing and sweltering heat of 
noonday, during the darkest night, or on the coldest morning ; 
they were ever present to torture, annoy, or disgust. Yet the 
beauty and diversity of their colours and forms must have extorted 
the unbounded admiration of an entomologist, even in the midst 
of his sufferings and exasperation. 

The flocks and herds grew sleek and lazy ; they had but to open 
their mouths and fill them with earth’s richest pasturage and all 
the choicest luxuries that the most fastidious brute could desire. 

Roland, from the commencement, had been out in the heavy 
rain, assiduously directing the movements of his flocks. With a 
master’s eye he saw for himself, and then issued instructions ; the 
consequence being that, when the deluge was over, the losses 
were but slight, and it took but little trouble to collect the liberated 
sheep again. 

He appeared early one morning at the head station when the 
rain had ceased, on foot, wet and weary, but imperturbable as 
ever. 

‘ Had you a good time ? ’ asked Hazle, with a grim smile at his 
bedraggled aspect. 

* I haven’t suffered for want of water, at any rate,’ he answered. 
‘ The opportunity has been afforded me of absorbing it at every 
pore for the last three days.’ 

‘It will bring a big flood,’ said Hazle, ‘and then look out that 
your Jumbucks are not caught on the low land and drowned.’ 


THE LAST OF THE TARKINGEES 291 

‘You are a very Nestor, wise even beyond your venerable years,’ 
replied Grantley. 

‘ You be bio wed !’ retorted the other in high dudgeon. ‘A man 
can’t express a common-sense opinion without your bristles 
showing. I wouldn’t have such a beastly temper for all your 
stations ; I ’d rather be poor and amiable.’ 

‘I am sorry you are poor, old man,’ said Roland; ‘but as to 
being amiable, I would not have you that for the world. It’s only 
your infernal temper that renders you endurable.’ 

‘It’s something to be endurable under any conditions or 
circumstances,’ growled Hazle ; ‘it’s more than several of my 
acquaintances are. Miola, which one big fellow sulky, Mr. 
Grantley or mine 

‘You are the worst,’ answered that downright young damsel in 
perfect English ; ‘ all the blacks say so. They say you are a very 
cross old man.’ 

‘ Why, I have not sworn for a week, ever since the rain began ; 
1 thought it might stop if I did, and then your angelic master 
would have made more noise than the thunder.’ 

‘Yes, you have,’ she replied; ‘you swore horribly when Big 
Jemmy let you drop in the mud, the day he tried to carry you to 
the boat.’ 

‘ Tried to carry me ! ’ he roared ; ‘ why, d it, he let me down 

on purpose. Instead of a little mild swearing, your good-tem- 
pered boss here would have flogged him black and blue if he had 
been dropped flop as I was.’ 

‘ Well, here are your clothes, as clean as ever,’ said the smiling 
maid, ‘ so it does not matter.’ 

‘Ah, you are a good girl!’ said the mollified old gentleman. 

‘ Some day I will buy you a frock, to make you look pretty.’ 

But Miola was gone, without paying the slightest attention to 
his last words. She was too much accustomed to look to Grantley, 
as the only employer she acknowledged, for all her requirements, 
to regard other people’s promises. 

‘She’s a deuced useful girl,’ observed Hazle, ‘and her only 
failing is that she thinks a lot too much of you. I really don’t 
believe she would leave the station even to please me.’ 

‘It’s quite extraordinary, isn’t it?’ said Roland drily, ‘consider- 
ing she is about as well off here, and her people too, as they could 
hope to be anywhere.’ 

A few days later, Grantley took his way to the big Sand Hill 
lagoon to inspect the patriarchs and progenitors of his flocks. 
Hazle accompanied him, and, as they strolled the short two miles 
to the yard, their conversation fell on the customs and past history 
of the aborigines. 

‘ It is generally supposed,’ remarked Grantley, ‘that the abori- 
gines of Australia have no legends or traditions ; but this is not 
quite correct, as I have heard fragments of several. On one of 
my excursions out back some of my black shepherds showed me. 


292 


PAVING THE WAY 


on what they said was the site of an old camp, a number of 
helmets made of burnt gypsum, which had been made into hard 
and durable cement. They said these were the remains of Mulla 
headgear. I was greatly puzzled as to what could have been their 
use, because, though too small to fit on any head of the usual size, 
they were very heavy. I pushed my inquiries, but the natives 
were extremely reticent, and referred me to old Jerry ; and to-day 
I am going to question him. They, at the same time, stated that 
a figure shaped like a Mulla, and made of a similar cement to the 
helmets, was lying hid not far distant from the old camp where 
they affirmed their ancient enemies perished. I made two young 
fellows accompany me to search, but in vain ; and I have never 
been able to find it, or indeed the helmets, since, and can only 
suppose the niggers have hidden them also. Here is the yard, 
and there comes the ancient savage, who “ can a tale unfold ” if 
I can but loosen his tongue ! ’ 

He was an old man, bent, gnarled, and twisted like one of his 
native box-trees, with not one ounce of superfluous flesh upon his 
frame. His head was of the true aboriginal type, with its low, 
receding, animal brow, from which the heavy, tangled elf-locks 
hung, innocent of the touch of comb or brush. In the cavities 
beneath, all that was left of the light of the eyes had to penetrate 
through a liquid ooze of dirt and corruption. All expression, 
unless under unwonted excitement, had long since fled — one 
might almost have said, all intelligence ; but a little still lingered 
in the nearly sightless orbs, or occasionally lighted up the dark, 
ill-favoured lineaments of the last chief of the Parkingees. The 
once beautifully strong white teeth had decayed with his strength, 
leaving but a few blackened fangs to supply their place. His 
cheeks were covered with a short, tufted, and coarse beard and 
a thick coating of dirt, the accumulation of years, through which 
the slimy overflow from the watery eyes had worn small creeks. 
The long thin arms terminated in bony fingers, with strong hooked 
nails, like a bird’s talons. His legs and feet were so wasted as to 
show each bone and muscle, and bent and tottered in carrying 
even his attenuated frame. Yet in this human ruin there still 
remained something of the nobleness of his prime, for the broad 
shoulders and thin flanks showed he had once been lithe and 
active as the fleetest kangaroo. 

In this sketch some will doubtless imagine they detect exaggera- 
tion ; but, if so, they cannot have seen the aboriginal of Australia 
in the last stage of decrepitude and misery, when all the joys of 
his merely animal existence have flown, leaving him, however, still 
clinging to life through the mere base brute-fear of death. 

Leaning upon his spear, the old savage crept up to the side of 
the squatter, who had just finished counting his rams, and, first 
carefully brushing away all possible burrs with the sole of his 
horny foot, then jobbing a hole with the point of his weapon, he 
solemnly sat in it with a grunt of satisfaction. After which he 





The last chief of the Parkingees. 


p. 292 



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felt in his mane-like hair, and, producing a short black pipe, he 
pressed a finger into the bowl as a practical illustration of 
its emptiness, and uttered the word ‘ Bacca.’ Grantley looked 
down at the old beggar with an amused, quizzical expression on 
his hard, self-reliant face, and answered, as he gave him a small 
piece of the coveted weed — 

‘Not three days have passed away since your weekly allowance 
was given out. Old man, you cannot have smoked it yet ; why 
lie to your master? Don’t forget that his hand holds a whip, his 
foot wears a boot ! ’ 

‘ Walcoro has not lied ; he smokes to forget he is the white 
man’s slave — to obey his nod and tremble at his word. Can he 
forget the whip or the boot when his body is still sore?’ 

‘ You have forgotten that your head is white and that the lubras 
have beguiled thee, old idiot ! ’ 

‘ I know that my head is like the flour-bag, and my blood runs 
cold and thin. What care I for the women of my people? Have 
not my lubras withered at the touch of the white man ? Behold, 
I am like yon tree your hand has spared, all but dead and alone ! ’ 

The scoff on the lip of the squatter gave way to a more serious 
expression as he replied — 

‘Why curse my people? They but follow their destiny. It is 
fated that the land must be theirs, and that your race must 
succumb to mine.’ 

‘ Then grudge not the few pleasures the black man covets. His 
old men shepherd your flocks ; his young men ride your horses, 
herd your cattle, and obey your commands ; the women await 
your slightest behest like slaves, and live and die in your service. 
The white man is rich, but he is a niggard, and gives little in 
return for all this.’ 

‘ Insatiable old villain ! Does he not feed and clothe you, and, 
above all, submit to the endless complaints of grumblers such 
as you, when he might gag you?’ 

‘ The black man once roamed these plains, free as yonder eagle. 
He hunted at his will the emu, kangaroo, wallaby, and opossum. 
He netted the ducks and fish where and when he would. Now 
your cattle cover the whole land, and you say they must not be 
disturbed by the step of the hunter of my people. We, who once 
fought and conquered the fierce Mullas, now dare not leave the 
banks of our river for fear of the anger of our master ! The curse 
of the dying Mullas is upon us ! ’ 

‘ Old man, I weary of all this drivel. Cease to dwell upon the 
ancient glories of your race, the past happiness, present misery, 
or future extinction. Tell me the tale of the vengeance of the 
Parkingees on the Mullas. I have seen the place of their 
slaughter and the copija helmets they made to cover their 
doomed heads. But where is the image of their great chief? 
Your young men have told me it is hid near the bank of the 
Big Milca Lake.’ 


294 


PAVING THE WAY 


The old warrior started from the ground with something of the 
vigour of his lost youth, and, with fury shaking his aged limbs, 
broke out — 

‘ Accursed be the tongue that ever tells the stranger the secret 
hiding-place of the Idol of the Mullas, and blasted be the eye 
that discovers it ! ’ 

‘ You may keep your secret, though I know the image exists, or 
else my black boys lie j but tell me the story of the destruction 
of the people 1 * 

The old man looked half-incredulously in Grantley’s face, as if 
he feared he was mocking him, hesitated for a moment, and then, 
again leisurely seating himself, began. 

But his narrative must be deferred to another chapter. 


CHAPTER XI 

THE DOOM OF THE MULLAS 

‘ Listen, master. I am very old, and I have seen many winters ; 
but my father was older when he told me the tale you shall hear, 
and he said two generations had then passed away since the 
slaughter of the hated race, the dreaded enemies of the Parkingees. 
The Mullas were then a great tribe, possessing all the country from 
the Warrego to the Peri Mountains and far beyond the Paroo ; but 
they most loved to camp at Mount Undelcarra, near a small spring 
that then bubbled up at the back of the hill. It sometimes failed 
at the end of a long, dry summer, and I will tell you how this led 
to their destruction. 

‘ They were a race of pigmies, with long arms that reached to 
their feet, but fierce and active as any warrior of the Parkingees. 
At their elbows was a bone like a tomahawk, sharp and strong, 
and with this they struck backwards with the force of a horse’s kick. 
Only the men had it; the women were weaponless, with long red 
hair which clothed them like a blanket. They dwelt always in the 
rocks of the mountains, only venturing down into the plains after 
dark to kill any single traveller of my people ; for they were 
cowards, and dared not meet a warrior in open fight. 

‘This went on until the bones of many Parkingees bleached on 
their hunting-grounds around the camps. At last they surprised 
several of our women fishing, and, after killing two of the old lubras, 
they escaped to their mountain, taking with them the sweetest 
flower of the whole tribe and the pride of her people, the young 
bride of Barpoo, the brave chief, whose hand was ever foremost in 
war, whose back no foe had ever seen. 

‘ When he heard the tale that Wanda had been stolen two days 


THE DOOM OF THE MULLAS 


295 

before, well knew he then what her fate had been, and that never 
more he should behold her alive; but he uttered no wailing word 
then, only his hand shook as he grasped his spear. Dark was the 
scowl on his face, and fiercely glowed the lightning in his eyes, as 
his voice rose amid the assembled warriors, finding an echo in 
each heart, for who had not lost a son, brother, wife, or friend at 
the hands of the accursed Mullas ? 

‘ “ How long, O men of the Parka, will you sit down and be a 
prey to the enemies of your race ? How many more of your young 
men will die the death of tiapped emus and their blood run into 
the dust, almost at your very camps ? How many more of your 
maidens will ye suffer to be taken out of your midst to be toyed 
with and jeered at around the fires of your foes, till they weary 
and slay them? These cry for vengeance and we are silent. 
There is a spell on the hearts of the Parkingees, or the skulls of 
their stricken ones would never blacken over the smokes of their 
murderers. Arm — be no longer a derision to your enemies and a 
reproach to the fathers who begat you. My Wanda is dead, the 
victim of the Mullas, but her spirit shall be appeased by the blood 
of their whole people. Up and away, collect every fighting man, 
let us encircle the camping-ground of our foes on the rocks of 
Undelcarra before the rays of another sun light up the trees upon 
its brow. For theirs shall be no warrior’s death, but by famine 
and thirst let them perish from before the children of the Parka. 
Away ! the spirits of our slain friends beckon us on to the venge- 
ance that shall be told from sire to son while a Parkingee walks 
the earth.” 

‘ One fierce, exultant shout arose from the assembled multitude, 
and fleet runners were at once despatched to call in the hunting 
parties. At nightfall over five hundred men had collected, 
weapons in hand, and in full war-paint, eager to be led against 
the foe. 

‘ Barpoo divided them into three bands, with instructions that 
each was to approach the Mullas’ camp from a different direction 
until within about half a mile, when they were to spread out into a 
circle and so surround them, and then close in, taking advantage 
of the cover of every tree, bush, and rock. 

‘ It was a long march, fully twenty miles ; but the active savages 
rapidly traversed .the distance, and executed each’movement so 
silently and successfully that the fated Mullas suspected nothing 
of their approach until day broke, showing the line of the Parkin- 
gees completely encircling them. Great was the commotion that 
ensued, but during the day no attempts were made to dislodge ;he 
attacking force. When night had fairly set in, however, a sudden 
storm of stones fell upon the lower and more exposed side of the 
line, followed by a furious charge of the Mullas. They were met 
as they advanced by a thick flight of boomerangs that shook their 
ranks, and then by a wall of spears that drove them back amidst 
the taunts of their triumphant foes. 


PAVING THE WAY 


296 

‘ The Mullas used no casting weapons ; they siniply threw stones, 
and, at a distance, were comparatively contemptible opponents to 
the well-armed Parkingees. But, once at close quarters, they in- 
variably proved themselves formidable antagonists, as they plied 
the bone-axes upon their elbows with terrible effect. On this 
occasion, however, they utterly failed to penetrate the hedge of 
spears, and retreated without having slain more than three or four 
of the river-men. Apparently disheartened by their want of 
success, they made no further attempt to escape for some days, in 
spite of the jeers of the Parkingees, who took advantage of their 
enemies’ supineness to strengthen their own position. 

‘The camp of the Mullas was arranged among the rocks of a 
rugged mount that rose abruptly from a small plain about two 
hundred yards from a low sandhill. Near to this was the little 
spring, the only water they had to depend on, and that was 
already rapidly diminishing. Of food there remained a consider- 
able supply, but not sufficient to sustain their numbers above a 
week without suffering. To obtain more was impossible, unless 
they could force the bristling circle. Of this they were conscious 
there was little hope, as each day augmented the array of their 
opponents. 

‘ As the horrors of the situation became evident to the doomed 
race, they repeated their endeavours to break through and fly, 
though each was more vain and hopeless than the last. Their 
relentless persecutors hurled them back at the point of the spear, 
with the pitiless resolve of savages, with whom vengeance is the 
predominant idea. They could see the smoke-dried skeletons of 
the captured women of their tribe hanging to the trees over the 
fires of the hated Mullas, and the sight nerved them in their stern 
resolve to destroy the whole people. 

‘ Barpoo, too, could distinguish his butchered bride, stretched 
between two of the tallest saplings. He knew her by the gaily 
crimsoned opossum-skin cloak he had made and painted for her. 
In derision the fierce Mullas had hung it above his darling’s 
body. Day by day the terrible object met his sight, but it never 
hastened his revenge. He well knew his prey was in his power, 
and, though his eyes flashed and his form shook with suppressed 
passion, his determination never wavered that her murderers 
should feel the utmost extremities of torment ere their death, 
without the abatement of a pang and unshortened by an hour or 
even a moment. 

‘ As the days grew hotter and the nights more close and sultry, 
he never seemed to cease the watch upon his foes. His body 
apparently knew no weariness, though he never seemed to sleep ; 
but, as the suft'erings of the besieged became more obvious, a 
stern smile would light up his savage face. 

‘Yet once again the Mullas made a desperate attempt to escape. 
Goaded on by the scorn and scoffs of their women, they charged 
down on the Parkingees, the strongest leading, the weaker stagger- 


THE DOOM OF THE MULLAS 


297 


ing after, with fierce, hollow eyes and gaunt, hungry forms. All in 
vain, however, was the furious effort ; the weapons of their vigorous 
enemies easily thrust them back. Bleeding, jeered at and reviled, 
they returned to their camp never to make one struggle more for 
life, only to endure with sullen despair the tortures which slowly 
led to the end. As the women saw their defeat and lingering 
retreat up the hill, a wild wail of utter woe and anguish broke 
from them, and, as though one thought animated them, they 
caught up their children, rushed to the line of their tormentors, 
and with loud cries and entreaties urged them to spare and save 
the little ones, though but as slaves. 

‘ It was in vain. They were met by the same circle of inexor- 
able warriors and bristling spears. Then an awful despair seized 
the frantic mothers, and they hurled their little ones into the midst 
of their foe and upon their uplifted weapons, on the points of 
which they were caught by the jeering braves and tossed back to 
the frenzied women. Then they too retired to the rocks, bewail- 
ing the destruction of their race, never more to endeavour to 
excite the mercy of their destroyers. 

‘ When morning broke, the Parkingees saw them congregated 
round the now nearly dry spring, forming from its ooze helmets 
of white clay wherewith to cover their burning heads, and in some 
measure assuage their agony and thirst. The sun, and the fire 
that later swept over their camp, baked the cases hard as you 
have seen them. Then the Parkingees knew that the consum- 
mation of their vengeance was near. Still day followed day, and 
moving forms, as well as wails of anguish, showed that some of 
the miserable people yet lingered on. Still the sun rose like a ball 
of fire each morning and poured his scorching rays down upon 
the dying race, agonised by the double torture of hunger and 
thirst. There seemed no pity in that fiery, cloudless sky, no hope 
of rain or mercy from God or man ; and so they languished and 
died, until of all the tribe there remained but one. 

‘ He, their medicine-man and chief, yet lived to curse and vilify 
the foe. Gaunt and haggard, he stood by the image of his race, 
on the rocks that towered above the wasted bodies of his people 
festering in the blazing heat, and watched the approach of the 
triumphant victors, coming to exult over and insult the dead. 
With his bones protruding through the skin, his long unkempt 
locks falling down the hollow cheeks and over the skeleton 
shoulders, his whole form attenuated and withered in the last 
stages of starvation, he looked the very incarnation of want and 
misery. Yet from the depth of the sunken eyes the lightning of 
hate and defiance, of scorn of his sufferings and their inflictors, 
flashed out while he awaited their coming. As they drew round 
the base of the cliff, his voice was heard, at first weak as the 
utterance of a sick child, but anon rising in its strength until it 
echoed from the caverns of the rocks and rolled over the heads of 
his awestruck hearers strong and piercing as the “ Nichie’*” cry. 


298 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ “ Cowards of the Parka ; come you to gloat and triumph over 
the extinction of the ancient race of the Mullas? Behold the 
accomplishment of your purpose in the putrifying forms of the 
aged and the young, the mother and the child alike. On the 
dead features see imprinted the agony that has ended their lives, 
such as no words can paint, and then dare, if you can, to think 
that no retribution shall track the steps of your nation. I stand 
alone, amid the ruin of my tribe, wrought by your implacable 
hate, and the future opens to my sight. I curse you with my 
dying breath and you shall be cursed. You, the ruthless de- 
stroyers of a whole people, shall in your turn be as ruthlessly 
swept from the path of the coming race, like the grass before 
the scorching blast of the North. Your weapons and struggles 
shall be as vain against them, as ours have been against you. 
They will take your hunting grounds from you, they will make 
your warriors their servants, and your women the slaves of their 
will. In the pride of their power they will scorn your groans and 
laugh at your tears, for in the days of your abasement you shall 
weep like children instead of resisting like men. By diseases 
that ye know not shall you be stricken ; some, slow and foul, 
shall eat the life away, that like cravens you will cling to, till you 
rot in your camps ; others, swift as the swoop of a hawk, shall 
make him who was in the morning a strong man in the evening a 
festering corpse. These things will come upon you, until such 
terror will sink into your hearts that you will believe the spirits 
of the lost Mullas haunt you in the gloaming and follow your 
steps in the night, as they wail the curse in your shuddering ears, 
so that the bravest dare not stir from the camp-fire. The sacred 
image of our race I leave as a symbol of my curse. You dare not 
destroy it now, for then your whole tribe would wither and die in 
an hour, and even as I speak, superstitious awe takes hold upon 
you. Hide it away as you may, the day shall come when one of 
the mighty people who avenge the massacre of my nation will 
behold the holy figure, and then the last wretched remnant of the 
Parkingees shall perish ; and thus the pitiless slaughter of the 
Mullas shall be fully avenged. Back ! I hasten to meet the 
death that beckons me to join the spirits of my race.” 

‘As the word left his lips, he plunged over the edge of the cliff, 
and fell in a lifeless, mangled heap at the feet of his startled foes. 
A silent awe hung over them, till the voice of Barpoo broke the 
spell. 

‘ “ I spit upon the Mulla, though he died like a warrior. His 
words are grievous, but our vengeance is complete. Let their 
whole camp be given to the flames and consumed, that not one 
bone be left. As for the sacred image on yonder rock, the old 
men in council will decide, where and how it shall be hid.” 

‘ The fierceness had left his eye, and in its stead there shone a 
softer light ; but on his brow already lay a deeper gloom, as if he 
believed in, nay, already felt, the curse. His orders were never 


THE DOOM OF THE MULLAS 


299 


unheeded, and, almost before his speech was ended, his men 
began taking down the skeletons of the Parkingee women from 
the poles ; this done, they were borne away to be buried, and the 
camp of the Mullas was given to the flames. When the next 
morning broke, there only remained a heap of ashes and the 
copija head-coverings. The ashes have long been scattered by 
the mighty “ Yerto,” but the helmets yet lie beneath the loose sand, 
the last memento of a lost race — these and the sacred image. 

* That night, when the tribe were in the midst of the feast and 
dance of triumph, six of the most trusted and highest in rank 
amongst the chiefs bore the image away, none else knew whither, 
and from that day to this only half-a-dozen at a time, know of its 
hiding-place. As one dies, another is appointed, so that the 
number should not fail. Three times, when in danger of discovery 
by the white man, it has been moved, lest its discovery should 
lead to the final fulfilment of the curse denounced upon our race 
by the dying Mulla. I, with five others, only know where it rests ; 
but, though we tremble at your power, and cringe at a blow from 
your whips, yet the secret has not been divulged, and may he who 
shall ever do so be thrice accursed ! May he never know the 
love of women nor the friendship of man ; may children shrink 
from his touch, and the very dogs recoil from his step ; and, not 
having known one joy, may he go down to his grave with the 
curses of a whole nation upon his spirit ! All but the last part of 
the Mulla’s curse has come upon us. We have beheld the approach 
of the white man, the Boree of our race foretold by the Mulla. 
Our resistance has been as nought before his insatiable power, 
our weapons as vain against his fire-arms as were the Mulla’s 
stones before our spears. We have shrunk and withered at his 
advance, and cowered under his sway. What we are, you well 
know, and you truly say that it is destined that the black man 
must give way before the onward march of your race.’ 

•X* -K- -X- -X- -X- -K- 

The fire died out of the old man’s eyes as he ceased, and in its 
place came the hungry look of the beggar, as with outstretched 
hand, he whined out once more his oft-repeated plea for ‘ bacca.’ 

-X- -X -X' -X- -X- -x- 

* Do you mean to tell me this is a true and literal translation of 
that old savage’s long-winded yarn, and not an exaggerated tissue 
of manufactured trash?’ objected Hazle, as Roland repeated the 
story to him on their way home. ‘ But for the fact that he was so 
excited and in such hot earnest I wouldn’t credit a single word of 
it. Why the deuce couldn’t you put it into common-sense prose 
in any case ? That romantic, half-breed poetry may please beard- 
less boys and silly girls, but it makes a man who has shed his 
milk-teeth sick.’ 

‘ I quite expected this tirade from the most impracticable and 
unbelieving of mortals,’ replied Roland. ‘ If you knew the abo- 
rigines as intimately as I do, you would be aware that they are 


300 


PAVING THE WAY 


fond of oratorical effect, and, like most uncivilised people, indulge 
in figurative language and word-painting. To be prosaic I should 
have to tell the tale myself ; I have preferred to allow him to 
speak in his own person.’ 

‘ Then, there is some truth in the story, and I must not attribute 
it all to your fertile imagination ? ’ said his somewhat mollified 
friend. 

‘ Don’t pay my imagination any such undeserved compliment. 
The old man believes it to be gospel, and I certainly saw the 
cement helmets, and searched for the reported image. I shall 
never cease to regret their loss, as they must have been of great 
interest to scientists.’ 

‘ Yes, and might have told something of the past history of a 
tribe now extinct,’ replied Hazle, ‘ if I am to believe your ancient 
chieftain.’ 

‘And, you might add, of another soon to follow, for the poor 
old heathen has correctly gauged the fate of his own race.’ 

‘ And for all the good that he or the rest of them are,’ growled 
the man with a liver, ‘ I don’t see any reason to make a fuss about 
it, but some folks must grow sentimental over the end, even of 
useless things.’ 


CHAPTER XII 

EROS THE ALL - SUBDUER 

As the friends slowly walked back to the Station the manners and 
customs of the natives formed the subject of an animated discus- 
sion between them. In those days, as now, the unfortunate people 
were much misunderstood and misrepresented, few of those best 
acquainted with them allowing that they possess any virtues or 
any intelligence superior to that of the monkey. 

Mr. Hazle was essentially one of these. A prejudiced martinet, 
with a most irascible temper, rather than endeavour to acquire a 
knowledge of their language and customs, he had chosen to assume 
that they perfectly understood his broken English or more mutil- 
ated native tongue, and exacted a prompt obedience to commands 
which were not comprehended. On his part, therefore, the result 
was a confirmed conviction of their impenetrable stupidity, which 
nothing had hitherto shaken, except perhaps Miola herself. This 
girl, however, he looked upon as an exceptional growth, a lusus 
7iaturcE^ who only proved the general rule. 

‘ I tell you,’ exclaimed Grantley, ‘ these people possess a higher 
order of intelligence than you give them credit for. Their skill in 
hunting, their laws to prevent intermarrying among relations, how- 


ER6s the all-subduer 301 

ever distant (from which we might take a lesson), the destruction 
of deformed children at birth, the respect and care enjoined upon 
the young and strong for the aged and infirm, their honesty 
towards each other (for who ever heard of a black fellow, before 
he was contaminated by his white brother, stealing from his 
countrymen ?) all prove it.’ 

‘Hold hard,’ cried Hazle. ‘It strikes me that I have heard of 
even your estimable savage making off with his friend’s wife, 
often (possibly erroneously) supposed to be his most valued pos- 
session.’ 

‘ I must admit,’ said the other, ‘ that he is no more virtuous and 
honourable where the tender passion comes in than his pale-faced 
brother ; this, indeed, I have never claimed for him, but I ’ll be 
hanged if he is less so.’ 

‘ Maybe not ; but we are travelling far from the point whence we 
started. You say they have traditions and stories, none of which 
I had heard until an hour ago, when you repeated to me what 
that old madman told you.’ 

‘ I have not done with you yet,’ replied Grantley, ‘ Miola has a 
tale she tells of true love that did not run smooth, which in its 
main incidents much resembles some of our saddest ballads, over 
which generations have wept. It shows that these dusky men and 
maidens can dare and die for love like other mortals. Now, as 
you know, Miola learned to read and write fairly well with Mrs. 
Darly’s children, and so became acquainted with several simple 
story-books, in which she took great interest. Naturally a clever 
girl, this no doubt quickened her intelligence, and led to her tell- 
ing me anything she knew of a similar nature in the past history 
of her people.’ 

‘ Ah well, if it is Curlywig who is to be the narrator I shall listen 
with pleasure ; I Ve had enough of the bombast of your first 
selection.’ 

‘At least, you will be ready to believe the principal incident of 
this tale, for it is only a few weeks ago that an event of a some- 
what similar kind occurred here.’ 

‘ And what might that be ?’ asked Hazle. 

‘ A black fellow, in a moment of jealousy, struck his lubra — little 
black Nancy — with his boomerang, and killed her. Fearing the 
vengeance of her relatives, he immediately bolted up the river. 
There was the devil of a row, and a few of the leading men of the 
tribe came to ascertain my views on the outrage. They wanted to 
know if I purposed interfering.’ 

‘ Which, of course, in spite of your cynicism, you meant to do,’ 
said Hazle, ‘ in your character of universal redresser of wrongs, 
by following after and shooting the brutal murderer of that mere 
child.’ 

‘ By no means,’ replied Grantley. ‘ When I can, I invariably 
leave them to settle these little private matters in their own 
summary manner, and according to their own laws and customs.’ 


302 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘And by thus shirking your own self-assumed responsibilities 
you conveniently avoid an embarrassing situation.’ 

‘ I must admit it ; but I still think it is better not to interfere.’ 

‘Are you quite satisfied,’ asked Hazle, ‘that it was so; for 
instance, when they came to inquire if they were to kill the new- 
born baby ? Why, a word from you would have saved it.’ 

‘ Possibly,’ returned Grantley, ‘ but they told me it was a cripple, 
and, if it lived, must always be so. Under such circumstances, I 
considered life no boon, and that our civilisation might accept a 
lesson from their savagery, and I therefore declined to intervene.’ 

‘ So the child was knocked on the head, a victim to your adap- 
tation of the Darwinian theory of the survival of the fittest. Well, 
quitting that question, what of the wife-killer ? ’ 

‘ As I said, he cleared out ; and when the niggers understood 
that the matter was left to them they quickly organised a party of 
avengers from among the relatives of the dead woman. Within 
an hour they were off hot-foot in pursuit, and in four or five days 
ran the poor devil down.’ 

‘ Of course he showed fight, for, to do them justice, they are no 
cowards,’ said Hazle. 

‘ I fancy he had no chance, as they closed round him at night. 
What could he do under these circumstances, for even the most 
skilful aboriginal warrior cannot guard both back and front with 
six inches of shield.’ 

‘ Served the d d scoundrel right,’ pronounced Hazle. ‘ I 

must acknowledge, though, that the black wretches die hard. I 
know a case in Queensland in which one of them, a noted outlaw, 
fell fighting like a hero against fearful odds. He had long been a 
marked man for a series of offences, and a party of whites even- 
tually caught him on a plain with no cover but the high grass. 
They were on horseback, so escape was all but hopeless. He did 
not attempt it, but took refuge in a bunch of the tallest tussock- 
grass, from which he defied his foes to come on. If one dared to 
approach he darted out and hurled a spear or boomerang at him, 
though himself a target for their fire. So he kept them at bay till 
he sank grievously wounded, but grimly defiant to the last, his 
courage extorting the unwilling admiration of at least one of his 
slayers, whom I heard relating the incident.’ 

‘ Absolutely the first time I have ever heard you say one word 
in favour of a black fellow,’ said Grantley, as they approached the 
house. 

‘Not at all. Here comes Miola to testify that I have often 
praised her.’ 

‘You nearly always scold and swear bad words at the blacks, 
and they don’t like it,’ said that downright young person. 

‘ I ’ll never do it again, if you will tell me the pretty tale Mr. 
Grantley says you know about your people.’ 

* What tale is that ? I don’t know any that will please you, for 
you hate the blacks. 


EROS THE ALL-SUBDUER 


303 


‘Then you must teach me to know better. Is it a true story ? ’ 

‘Now, I won’t tell you, because you won’t believe it.’ 

* Deuce take the girl.’ 

‘ There you are, swearing again, as you always do.’ 

‘ Grantley, here is one of your vassals obdurate to all my blan- 
dishments.’ 

‘ Pretty blandishments,’ laughed Roland. ‘ Well, never mind 
him, Miola, it’s only his way.’ 

‘ But I don’t like his way. He ’s not a bit like you ; he is always 
making game of me,’ pouted Miola. ‘ But I will tell you the 
story ; — 


'‘A True Tale of the Wompangees* 

‘Watulgunya was the pride of his race. Swift as the emu, 
supple as the kangaroo, and cunning as the dingo, never did he 
return empty-handed from the hunt. Well knew he how to 
imitate the shrill whistle of the hawk, and his hand was skilled to 
guide the net when the swift black duck, widgeon, and teal were 
to be ensnared. He was the delight of the maidens and the envy 
of the young men, and the chiefs were ever extolling his powers. 
His boomerang flew the farthest and returned the surest ; and 
woe to the warrior who hoped to parry the deadly flight of his 
spear. 

‘ Now Watulgunya loved Nilyillie of the dark locks, glossy with 
ointment from the fat of the emu ; but she was the destined bride 
of Poorndie, for so according to the time-honoured laws had the 
elders decreed, and to attempt to evade their decision was death. 
Well knew Watulgunya this, for had he not seen young Coolpa 
struck down by the avenging spear of the injured lord of the frail 
but loving Wallarie. Moreover he loathed his own betrothed, 
the one-eyed Manoree, whose face was as the face of a one-eyed 
codfish. Fierce were the contentions in the camp of the Wom- 
pangees, for the jealous Manoree said her youth was passing 
away and no child was hers to train up to bring fish and meat 
to her yapra, when her eye became too dim and her arm too 
weak to grind the parper. Poorndie, too, claimed his bride, and 
coarsely swore he had already waited too long ; for the bust of 
Nilyillie was as the bust of a full-grown woman. The patience 
of the old men being exhausted by the lover’s delays, they at 
length decided that Nilyillie should go to Poorndie’s yapra before 
the sun had risen twice. The muckily (dance) and feast were 
over, and the tribe slept the sleep of repletion, when the spear of 
Watulgunya stirred the locks of Nilyillie and his voice whispered 
to her to come forth and they would fly. Loud beat her heart, 
but it was faithful to the call of her lover, and she crept out to flee 
with the young hero of the Wompangees to their hereditary foes, 
the Barengees, far away across the almost boundless plains of the 
Mulga land. On, on they went, for they knew that the swift 


304 


PAVING THE WAY 


trackers would be on their trail at the dawn of day, and to be 
overtaken meant death for one and almost worse for the other. 

‘ Meanwhile, as day broke, the flight was discovered. Dark was 
the brow of Poorndie, and fiercely glowed the eye of Manoree 
as she brandished her nulla-nulla and yelled for vengeance. A 
council was quickly called at which the avengers were appointed, 
those considered most wronged having the first claim to act as 
such. The evil Poorndie stepped out first, and was sworn to 
strike the first blow, though needless that vow, for the lust of 
blood was in his eye, and would only be appeased by the life-blood 
of Watulgunya. The young brother of Nilyillie had the right of 
the second blow. He was still a boy, but there was no tremor in 
his voice as he stepped out and struck his spear into the ground, 
vowing it should quiver even so in the heart of his sister’s seducer. 
An uncle and a cousin followed, who also vowed to see the deed 
of blood completed, and strike their weapons in the body of the 
fugitive. Already the trail had been found, an easy matter for 
the keen-eyed savage, and away bound the four avengers on the 
track. Alas for the dark-eyed Nilyillie ! how could her tender 
limbs fly fast enough to escape the fleet, inexorable Poorndie, and 
the lithe and springy stride of her avenging brother.? Each hour 
brought them nearer, and at the end of the third day, as evening 
fell, the broken grass, still unwithered, showed that the lovers’ 
footsteps had just passed over it. Then the band halted, and the 
lynx-eyed Poorndie crept on alone, until he discovered his prey 
camped under cover of some low bushes by a small pool. Weary 
was Nilyillie, nor could she farther go, but the strength of 
Watulgunya was still unspent ; his eye still roamed around and 
his ears were still keen to catch the slightest sound. The scout 
saw there was no chance of their escape, for the exhausted gkl 
could struggle no farther; then he settled himself to watch till 
sleep should overcome the eyes of the hunted brave. Hours 
passed away, till at last Watulgunya slept, and then the spy crept 
back to his band. A few moments suffloed to explain the position 
and the order of attack, then, weapons in hand, they stole to the 
side of the doomed and slumbering man. A twig was broken and 
he awoke ; his boomerang flashed from his hand, laying open the 
body of Poorndie from chest to groin at the same moment as the 
tomahawk of the latter crashed into his brain, and the brother’s 
spear reached his heart. Then followed a shower of blows until 
each warriors weapon was dyed in the blood of the slain, to show as 
a proof that their vows had been well kept. They scooped out two 
shallow graves some distance apart for the bodies of the dead 
foes. Over Poorndie they placed boughs of trees and stones to 
mark the resting-place of a warrior, but Watulgunya’s was un- 
marked as the grave of a dishonoured man, so that like his 
memory it might be blotted out and forgotten. These duties 
performed, they started back with the unresisting Nilyillie to the 
camp of their people. She was contemptuously left at liberty ; 


er6s the all-subduer 


305 


escape for her they knew was hopeless, if she even had dared the 
attempt. On the fifth day they reached the camp, and told the 
tale of pursuit and death. Then arose the wild wail for Poorndie, 
dead in his prime ; but Watulgunya’s name is heard no more in 
the assemblies of his tribe. His old mother even keeps silence ; 
and if her thoughts dwell upon her slaughtered son, none know it 
from her words, though her eye grows dim and her strength fails 
her, for he was her only child. 

‘ Nilyillie was given to be the wife of the least worthy of the old 
men, but she brought no sunshine to his yapra ; and though 
her voice was often heard, there was no music in it. True, she 
accepted her lot with the sullen apathy characteristic of the women 
of the tribes of the Parka — unsophisticated children of nature as 
they are — but her brother knew she shrank from his very touch, 
and that her heart was buried in the grave of Watulgunya, by the 
silent pool. Manoree, too, grew more venomous and fierce than 
ever, and many were the fights among the women of the Wom- 
pangees when passionate words rose high, and then the nulla- 
nulla of Nilyillie ever sought the head of the one-eyed hag.’ 
****** 

The girl ceased, and as she did so the animation died out of 
her dark face and great bright eyes. 

‘You have told it very well, Miola,’ exclaimed Roland. 

‘ It’s a better tale than that old fossil’s,’ retorted Hazle. 

‘What’s a fossil?’ asked Miola of her master. 

‘ That old idiot of a ram-shepherd is one,’ retorted Hazle. 

‘ Well, his story about the Mullas is quite true — quite as true as 
mine,’ she said simply. 

‘No doubt; but, whether true or not, I will never deny again 
that the natives have traditions. I give in, Grantley, and it ’s about 
time, for I see you are itching to impart a long-winded yarn your- 
self, which God forbid. I survived “ The Legend of the Mullas,” 
and even enjoyed “The True Tale of the Wompangees,” because 
of Miola’s manner and musical tones ; but try my forbearance no 
further — it has its limits.’ 


CHAPTER XIII 

ON BOARD THE ‘ PLOVER ’ 

The big flood came, and the great river with all its lakes and 
estuaries overflowed. For months the wide stretch of land, known 
in squatter’s parlance as * flooded country, and marked as subject to 
inundation by the growth of box-trees and other kinds of eucalyp- 
tus, was submerged, much of it under many feet of water. All 

U 


PAVING THE WAY 


306 

through the continuance of the waters the breeding of the water- 
fowl never ceased. It was simply marvellous to witness their 
fecundity ; every hollow limb in the lowest box or the loftiest gum- 
tree was occupied by a laying or sitting duck, bringing forth her 
young brood to add to the innumerable fluffy specks that already 
besprinkled the waters. Not in such places alone was the ardent 
reproduction of species carried on, for by some caprice or neces- 
sity others also chose to make their nests in or under bushes or 
grass many miles from water. How the tender duckling ever 
reached the element necessary to its existence, was long an 
enigma. Some close observers argued that it was by patient 
walking, but no one ever saw them thus in transit. Then, again, 
how could those hatched in hollows, at a height of a hundred 
feet up gums, reach the water ? It could not be said that they 
dropped or dived into it, for, whether this feat were possible or 
impossible, there were very many of these great trees growing 
over no water. 

No doubt the black fellow, with his keen insight into the habits 
of all the creatures of his native land, is right, and the parent bird 
carries them both down from the lofty monarch of the forest and 
in from the dry land, and that doubtless by night, when their 
enemies the hawks are at rest ; but whether they are held in the 
bill or nestle in the feathers we know not — probably the latter. 

There was now such plenty that the squatter’s life was one of 
ease. Stock required little attention, and even shepherds almost 
ceased from troubling. Grantley spent much of his life among 
the blacks, accompanying them in many of their hunting excur- 
sions. He often went out in their canoes to rob the ducks of their 
eggs, and watched that unequalled climber, the Australian abori- 
gine, making his way with unparalleled dexterity and confidence step 
by step in little notches, cut with a light tomahawk in the bark of 
the tall, straight gum-trees, to a dizzy height, then out on the limbs 
to one nest or more ; and finally — more wonderful still — safely 
retracing his steps, though burdened with his fragile spoil. On 
other days they caught the ducks themselves in the nets, than 
which no more skilful adaptation of simple means to circumvent 
timid wild creatures was ever devised by the instinct or reason of 
the hunter. 

A large net is made of thin string, some thirty feet by ten. It 
is suspended on a line about twenty feet high across a stream or 
lagoon between two trees, if they happen to serve ; if not, on poles 
erected for the purpose. One end of the line is made fast on the 
opposite side, the other brought through a notch or fork on the 
top of the tree or pole, and attached to a stick pushed lightly into 
the ground, so^ lightly that the impetus of a flying duck, striking 
the net, drags it up. 

Beaters are usually employed, unless, as is frequently the case, 
the birds are habitually flying over the scene of operations. A 
few bushes may be placed to cover the two or more natives 


ON BOARD THE ‘PLOVER’ 


307 


required at the net, and then all is ready. Presently a flight of 
ducks comes flashing along ; as they approach, a shrill whistle, 
imitating the cry of the hawk, rings out, and at the same moment 
a piece of bark is skilfully flung above them. The frightened 
birds, bewildered at the supposed appearance of their enemy, dash 
down and into the net ; it falls, and they are caught in its meshes. 
The watchers rush into the water, wring the necks of the captives, 
and toss them on shore ; the net is pulled up again ready for the 
next lot ; and so the sport goes on. 

A few of the birds may check the impetus of their flight at the 
net, and rise over or dash under it, but by far the greater number 
are enveloped in its folds ; and the day invariably ends by the 
capture of game sufficient to supply the station with as many as 
can be used of the fattest and best. 

The floods appeared to have cleared the bushrangers out, 
nothing having been heard of them for many months in the 
vicinity of the Darling, and men almost ceased to talk of them. 
The police-force was recalled to the more settled districts, with the 
exception of one or two men stationed in the townships. Their 
want of success in capturing the ruffians had been adversely criti- 
cised in the severest terms, and they were now eager to distinguish 
themselves on the first opportunity the outlaws offered. 

Roland Grantley, too, chafed at the thought that his enemy was 
still at large. He had by no means forgotten the awful suffering 
he had endured while chained to the box-tree, and it was not in 
his nature to forgive it. But, as the season was so magnificent, 
and other circumstances favourable, he determined to visit the 
capital. There was important business of a financial nature there 
that required his personal attention. Years had elapsed since he 
had left the stations, and the present appeared the best opportunity 
for doing so. The river was navigable ; he would step on board 
the first steamer that passed his door downwards, and in a few 
weeks reach Adelaide, transact his business there, order supplies 
sufficient to last him for some years, and return with them. Once 
having decided to go, it took but a few days to make arrange- 
ments, Hazle again consenting to undertake the responsibility of 
management. 

‘It’s a good season,’ he said, ‘or I’ll be hanged if I would. 
Everything seems to go on as right as a trivet when you are in 
command. It’s my cursed luck, I suppose, that everything goes 
wrong when you are away.’ 

‘ It will be easy this time,’ rejoined Grantley, ‘with feed and 
water everywhere. You will be able to smoke your pipe, and con- 
gratulate yourself daily on the brilliant success of your control of 
affairs ; probably you may even arrive at the conclusion that the 
heavy losses, which so frequently occur, are the natural result of 
the incapacity of managers.’ 

‘ Which is precisely the opinion at which you, in your over- 
weening arrogance, long ago arrived,’ retorted Hazle. 


PAVING THE WAY 


308 

‘ Fairly thrust,’ laughed the other, *and driven home right under 
the fifth rib— though why the old Hebrew writers selected that as 
the most fatal spot, I am not anatomist enough to say.’ 

As usual, there was some more sparring between the friends, 
which need not be narrated ; then they entered upon business 
matters, and when they rose Grantley felt himself at liberty to 
betake himself to his travels at any time. Fortune favoured his 
determination, for the very next evening the shrill whistle of a 
steamer coming down the river was heard, and she presently drew 
up to the bank at the station door. The delay only occupied a 
few minutes, and she again headed swiftly down the stream with 
the owner of Moolahalla on board. 

The boat was one of the usual river-navigation type, though, 
perhaps, rather higher than usual out of the water, of about sixty 
tons burden. Instead of open-sea bulwarks, movable iron 
stanchions, with a rope from one to the other, were the only pro- 
tection against tumbling overboard. The accommodation for the 
few passengers carried was principally provided in a deck-house, 
but there was also a saloon below in the stern. To compensate 
for her carrying capacity being so small, and to enable a consider- 
able cargo to be carried with a slight draught of water, she towed 
two barges, each much larger than herself. These followed one 
behind the other, so that there were three vessels, in a line, 
winding round the sinuous course of the river. All were laden 
with bales of wool four tiers high, which gave them a most 
imposing appearance, aud rendered such tortuous navigation a 
matter of much anxiety and responsibility. When it was neces- 
sary to stop to take in wood for fuel, or to call at township or 
station, the steamer gave notice to the men steering the barges by an 
ear-piercing whistle, that startled all creation within a wide radius. 

Captain Elijah Tongs, of the powerful steamer Plover^ loved 
that instrument of torture, and lost no opportunity of waking the 
echoes and alarming nature with its discordant screams. 

This worthy was a strong, thick-set man, who apparently only 
required sleep in homoeopathic doses and at long intervals. Such 
of his complexion as was left might be considered fair, since it 
certainly could not be thought dark. Fiery it undoubtedly was ; 
indeed, there were times when he appeared just bursting into a 
blaze. As might be supposed from these external indications, his 
choler was very near the surface, and a continual stumbling-block to 
him, for the captain, like many of his fraternity, had been ‘ con- 
verted.’ The old Adam, however, would on occasion assert him- 
self. A clumsy bargeman, instead of bringing his craft gliding 
gently alongside the steamer when required, might nervously come 
up with a bump. Then the vials of the captain’s wrath were 

emptied, and the culprit would be asked ‘where the he was 

raised,’ and would be sarcastically told that, ‘ if he couldn’t stee 

the boat better than that, he had best turn parlour-maid, and 

be d d to him.’ 


ON BOARD THE ‘PLOVER* 


309 


He was immensely powerful and an accomplished bruiser, 
which reputation probably often saved him hot retorts ; but with 
all his peculiarities he was a great favourite with his men, who 
generally calculated that a severe jobation meant a handsome 
present at the termination of the voyage. Many were the stories 
told about the worthy skipper. Once a new hand, when heartily 
sworn at, answered back somewhat intemperately, whereupon the 
choleric master caught him by the collar and dipped him two or 
three times over the side in the current. On subsequently being 
remonstrated with on the subject, he replied he thought that the 
best way to cool the man’s temper. 

But the tales were not always to the advantage of the stalwart 
mariner. On another occasion words ran high, and, after ap- 
parently receiving with exemplary patience a more than usually 
prolonged discharge of bristling oaths, the recipient turned and 
promptly knocked the captain down on his own deck. Without a 
word he picked himself up, seized the wheel, ran the steamer 
into the bank, and calmly ordered her to be made fast. Then he 
politely invited his assailant to accompany him on shore, and 
proceeded to ‘ dress him down.’ Alas for human vanity ! Captain 
Elijah Tongs returned on board frankly acknowledging that he 
had met his conqueror. 

This incident was previous to his conversion, and had presum- 
ably been repented of and forgiven ; but it was still understood 
that the weakness of the Christian must not be tried too far. 

The crew call for no special remark ; they were the usual stamp 
of men who, at that period, manned the river-boats — half-seamen, 
half-landsmen, who could turn their hands to almost anything. 

There were only three adult passengers besides Roland, two of 
them being ladies — Mrs. Ingleton, the wife of a squatter on the 
Barwon, and her sister-in-law. The former was perhaps about 
thirty years of age, good-looking, with a pleasant, kindly face, 
and the mother of two children whom she thought perfection, 
which they certainly were not. Miss Ingleton was almost a 
beauty. Over the middle height, slender but exquisitely propor- 
tioned, she struck the beholder with the grace of her every 
movement. Her features were far from perfect, but formed on 
the whole a charming face, crowned as it was by a mass of shin- 
ing golden-brown hair, and lit up by clear blue eyes, innocent 
and trustful as those of a little child. Such was Clara Ingleton 
when Roland Grantley first met her on the deck of the Plover as 
she steered away from Moolahalla station, at an age when his 
heart might be presumed to be susceptible to attractions less 
striking than those of the fair girl at his side. 

The other grown-up passenger was the nurse to the children 
and attendant on the ladies— a middle-aged woman of neutral 
tints and qualities, whose principal object and interest in life 
seemed to be to impress upon others the fact that she had once 
been in better circumstances. 


310 


PAVING THE WAY 


For the first two or three days there was little or no intercourse 
between the travellers. Grantley spent nearly the whole time 
with the master in the wheel-house, when he was not in his cabin. 
Of course, the passengers met at meals, when the customary 
civilities were interchanged ; but nothing more passed between 
them, and Miss Ingleton felt much disposed to rate the reserved 
young squatter as shy. 

With his face set southward, he was thinking now almost 
always of Petrel, and consequently had become more than 
ordinarily silent. He had, indeed, no thought for other women 
while her image remained so vivid in his recollection. 

Miss Clara began to feel some feminine chagrin that the un- 
doubtedly interesting stranger paid so slight regard to her sweet 
self. During twelve months’ residence on her brother’s station, 
she had experienced no lack of attention from every male biped 
she had met, whether aged or of juvenile years ; and the neglect 
of the one man she had now the opportunity of impressing was 
rank heresy to her faith in woman’s charms. From the beginning 
to the end of that halcyon period, all had vied in the ardour of 
their worship ; and it was really surprising to Mr. Ingleton that so 
many more of his neighbours than heretofore found that impor- 
tant business, that admitted of no postponement, called them to 
Whacutmuttee. How, then, was it that Mr. Grantley, with such 
splendid opportunities, the field being entirely clear for him, held 
aloof.? It was really too provoking, and she almost hated him 
for it ; at least she would have done so, only he looked unhappy — 
and — nice. 

On the third day, however, an event happened that swept the 
restraint aside like the veriest cobweb. In the early morning, at 
the first streak of light, that most rest-disturbing and detestable 
whistle pierced the solitudes, giving warning that the moment of 
departure from the bank, at which the steamer and barges, in 
accordance with the usual custom when going down stream, were 
moored for the night, had arrived. Then followed the bumping and 
stamping on the decks, that river passengers know so well, prepara- 
tory to getting under way. Above all rang out the stentorian 
tones of Captain Tongs, giving the orders that an imperative 
necessity appeared to demand should be uttered in the loudest 
possible key at a time when most people wanted to sleep. 

In the midst of all this confused din the flotilla got into motion, 
and then what exactly followed, or how the accident happened, 
was never made quite clear. 

The captain declared, ‘ It was only the carelessness of 

the bargeman who steered the after boat ;’ but that aggrieved 

functionary vehemently asseverated, almost with tears in his eyes, 
that in the imperfect light (the anxiety of the master to lose no 
time causing him to start so early), and with the wash made by 
the steamer and the barge in front of him, he could not see the 
snag. Anyhow, the boat went into it, and, having a big hole 


ON BOARD THE ‘PLOVER’ 


311 

knocked in her bottom, there was barely time to run her into 
the bank when down she went. But for the promptitude of the 
poor fellow who brought the catastrophe about, in smartly getting 
a line out and making it fast to a tree, she must have slipped off 
and sunk in deep water. 

Under present conditions she lay nearly broadside-on to the 
river with her stern submerged. 

The irate Tongs was somewhat mollified by the commendable 
conduct of his subordinate subsequent to the accident ; and, when 

he had told him that ‘ any fool with his eyes shut might 

have seen a snag as big as a mountain,’ he referred no 

more to the subject, but expended all his energies in landing the 
cargo. 

Roland immediately got up and joined the rest in endeavouring 
to save the wool, working till midday as hard as any one, even 
the indefatigable Tongs himself. 

By this time they had got to the hold, where there was not 
room for all hands, so, as his services were no longer required, he 
returned on board the steamer, which had been moored some 
little distance above the sunken barge with her bow against the 
shore and her stern out in the stream. He passed along her 
deck, and, being heated with his exertions, sat down on the poop 
with his coat still over his arm. Just then Miss Ingleton came 
out of the cabin with the two children, and began playing with 
them. Presently, as they played, she ran backwards with the 
children after her, and, not noticing that the stanchions with 
the rope-guard had for some purpose been taken down, she fell 
backwards into the river with a scream and an appealing look 
towards Grantley on her fair young face. 


CHAPTER XIV 

AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS 

Roland Grantley promptly responded to that mute appeal, 
though, it must be admitted, not quite after the manner of the 
born-and-bred rescuers of beauty in distress, whom we read of in 
romance. There may, indeed, be a difference of opinion as to 
what he might and ought to have done. The lady most in question 
was the sole observer of his initial actions, and, in justice to him, 
it must be said she always expressed extreme admiration for what 
she called his ‘ noble conduct.’ On seeing the fall, his first idea 
was to fling her a rope and haul her out when she had grasped it, 
but there was none handy ; his second was to look out for a life- 
buoy, but they were kept up in the wheel-house on the hurricane 
deck. Now, both these would have been decidedly unheroic pro- 


313 


PAVING THE WAY 


ceedings when a damsel’s life was trembling in the balance. His 
third thought, however, was to jump in after her, which he accord- 
ingly did. From the method underlying this procedure it may 
safely be inferred that he was not in love with Miss Ingleton. A 
lover would have splashed in, utterly oblivious of whether that 
would be the least use or not, and would have thought of such 
subsidiary things as ropes and buoys later. Though he had never 
attempted to save a drowning person, he on several occasions 
had seen the splendid black swimmers do it, and was well aware 
that the feat was both difficult and dangerous in a strong current. 
But he was not a man to lose his head and act precipitately under 
any circumstances, so he made the most of the brief moment at 
his disposal to decide upon the best means to adopt to save the 
life in peril, which, after all, was the best thing he could do. 

When he sprang over the side, he clung at first to the combing 
and held out his foot for her to seize. This she missed, however, 
and he then let go and swam to her. All this occupied but a few 
seconds, and her clothes were still supporting her. Saying quickly, 
‘Put your hand on my shoulder and don’t be frightened ; we shall 
soon be all right,’ he struck out for the helm that hung near, 
swinging down the stream. He would easily have reached it, if 
she had only obeyed his injunction and kept quiet ; but, losing her 
presence of mind, she climbed upon him, pressing him under 
water. Having missed the rudder, they were at once caught by 
the full strength of the current and swept down the river. Grantley 
now had to make for the barge, but, impeded as he was by the 
affrighted girl, though a strong swimmer, he was most of the time 
beneath the surface. When in deep, dense water, however, by 
vigorous strokes he could make some progress towards the shore, 
and even occasionally bring her up for a short time to breathe. 

Meantime, the alarm had been given, and the captain and a fine 
young fellow sprang in. The former reached the spot first, but 
Roland had already sunk a second time. With a bellow that the 
struggling pair could hear at the bottom of the Darling, he roared 
for a boat and turned back. The other joined Grantley, who had 
struggled to the surface again with his helpless burden, and now 
thought there would be little further difficulty ; but the swirling 
current swept all three under once more. By this time they were 
near the barge, and a rope, flung from it, fell circling round into 
Roland’s hand, just as they were again sinking. As he pulled up 
hand over hand, the thought crossed his mind, ‘Am I going towards 
the slack end ?’ — then it tightened, and he knew they were saved. A 
moment more, and all three reached the surface, and were pulled 
on to the deck of the barge. Miss Ingleton, who was by this time 
unconscious, was without delay carried on board the Plover^ 
where her sister-in-law, in great alarm, administered assistance 
and comfort. Her rescuer seemed almost as collected as usual, 
and quickly walked off to his cabin, shortly appearing on deck 
^vith his accustomed composure, as if nothing out of the ordinary 


AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS 


313 


course had occurred. Perhaps for him nothing had, but for her 
the whole of life was for ever changed. The man, who merely 
excited her interest before, was now a hero. Young, ardent, and 
impressionable, was it likely that she could believe herself saved 
from death by such sustained efforts and courage without feeling 
grateful ?— and we know that gratitude is akin to love. 

‘ Oh, Agnes,’ she exclaimed, when she had recovered a little from 
the shock of her prolonged immersion, ‘ how shall I ever thank 
him enough for his noble conduct ?’ 

‘ I dare say we shall manage, dear, to say all he will desire,’ 
returned her sister. ‘ Mr. Grantley does not strike me as likely 
to be very exacting in that way. He gives one the impression 
that he thinks women and their ways rather tiresome.’ 

Strange to say this was just what Clara had thought herself a 
short hour ago, but now she felt quite ready to take up arms in his 
defence. Seeing the light of battle in her eyes, Mrs. Ingleton 
added — 

‘ I really must go and thank him, however, since you won’t be 
presentable for some time.’ 

‘ Yes, and come back and tell me what he says,’ replied the girl, 
* or I ’ll get up myself.’ 

But Grantley had gone on shore, having learned from the nurse 
that the young lady was rapidly recovering. He might there be 
seen with a cigar in his mouth, placidly watching the men unload 
the few remaining bales of wool. Was there ever such a provok- 
ing man, to take himself away just when two women, whom he 
had laid under deep obligation, were burning to relieve their 
feelings by thanking him ? 

‘ It just looks as if he did not think my life worth saving, or even 
being thanked for,’ almost sobbed Miss Clara, when her sister 
informed her of the position of affairs ; ‘ and I am not sure that it 
is.’ 

Which indicates that the speaker was beginning to think, 
that what Roland Grantley thought was of some importance to 
her. That evening he was engaged with the captain until late, 
and the ladies (for the invalid had insisted on getting up), after 
hoping in vain to see him in the saloon or on' deck, retired to rest. 
A great part of the night Miss Ingleton lay awake, wondering 
what could be the reason why the squatter never came near her. 
Another man, who had performed such a service, would have 
found a hundred pretexts, nay, would in common politeness have 
come to inquire after her. 

‘ I am afraid he is a boor,’ she thought ; and then decided there 
was nothing boorish in his appearance or manners. ‘Well, then, 
he is a woman-hater and that ’s worse,’ but somehow she derived 
more than a grain of comfort from the belief that he did not hate 
/ler. 

Early the next morning the everlasting whistle shrieked out, 
as if suffering untold agonies, but Clara almost blessed it. The 


314 


PAVING THE WAY 


steamer was under way again, leaving the damaged barge and her 
crew behind, and Mr. Grantley could not escape her if he tried 
ever so much ; besides, she knew he generally rose about daylight 
and strolled on deck. She waited till a reasonable hour, then 
dressed herself in a charming morning costume, and stepped 
outside her door. There, a few feet below, was the river in which 
she had so nearly lost her young life, and not much further away 
stood, with his back to her, the man who had saved it. Now was 
the opportunity. Pale but determined, she moved towards him as 
he turned round. 

‘ Mr. Grantley,’ she said tremulously, as she held out her hand, 
‘ I must try to thank you.’ 

Taking her hand he led her to a seat. ‘ No,’ he replied, ‘you 
must do nothing of the kind. Any one on board would have done 
as much, and that, probably, better than I.’ 

‘ Please don’t try to make little of it ; you risked your life for a 
perfect stranger, and I shall always feel so grateful.’ 

‘ Please don’t try to make much of it,’ replied he, echoing her 
words with a smile. ‘ The risk at first was very slight ; I thought 
to have reached the rudder by swimming a few strokes.’ 

‘Yes, and you would have done so, if I had only kept quiet as 
you told me, but I was so frightened, and now feel so ashamed of 
my cowardice. It might have cost both our lives.’ 

‘ Oh no ; I should simply have been enabled to restore you to 
your sister-in-law a little sooner, I hope you suffer no inconveni- 
ence from the ducking.’ 

‘ Yes, I do,’ she cried, recovering her spirits, ‘ I havn’t been able 
to dry my clothes and have really nothing to wear.’ 

‘ I trust there was no more serious reason why I did not have 
the pleasure of seeing you last night.’ 

This was turning the tables with a vengeance. Why, the man 
had persistently kept out of the way, and frustrated all her en- 
deavours to see him ! 

‘Well,’ she said demurely, ‘ I scarcely felt well enough to appear, 
but my sister came on deck a score of times, for the purpose of 
thanking a certain gentleman, who has placed us both under great 
obligations.’ 

‘ I am afraid you got me there,’ he replied ; ‘ but now we will 
make a truce, and you must not think anything more of my bung- 
ling attempts at getting ladies out of the water.’ 

‘ I shall think of it to my dying day,’ she interrupted fervently, 
looking him straight in the eyes with her own overflowing. 

‘Good-morning, Mr. Grantley,’ said a voice at this opportune 
moment, and Mrs. Ingleton sailed up. ‘You must allow me to 
join my thanks to my sister’s for all that we owe you.’ 

‘Which you can best repay by never recurring to it. Miss 
Ingleton has already overwhelmed me with thanks for doing what 
any man with a grain of presence of mind would have done.’ 

‘ But the individual with the necessary grain is not always avail- 


AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS 


315 


able,’ she answered, ‘ or may, perhaps, not be provided with another 
even higher quality. No, Mr. Grantley, don’t affect to undervalue 
the service you have conferred upon two women travelling alone. 
Now, Clara, there is the breakfast bell ; I ’ll leave you to the care 
of one who has proved himself so capable, and go for my blessed 
children.’ 

From this time to the end of the journey Roland was almost 
constantly in the society of the ladies. Day after day he sat with 
Miss Ingleton on the deck, as the steamer glided along the wind- 
ing river. It was, indeed, pleasant for the lonely man to be brought 
into contact with this charming girl, and if he could, under her 
benign influence, forget the hitherto unforgetable past, why should 
he not ? He knew it was but for a brief period ; she would go her 
way and he his. As for seeking her love when he had none to 
give, that thought he never entertained, nor did he dream that 
there was any danger of her loving him. It was simply that by 
the force of circumstances they were thrown together for a short 
time, after which they would part, probably never to meet again. 

Mrs. Ingleton generally remained with them, and, being a good 
conversationalist, she also occupied much of Grantley’s attention. 
So the hours flew by till they entered on the broad breast of the 
mighty Murray, the milky-white water of the Darling showing in 
strong contrast to its clear tide for many miles after the junction. 

Grantley had been up and down the river before, but for his 
companions there were many points of new interest to see — the 
great, grey, perpendicular cliffs, torn, jagged, and honeycombed 
in the course of untold ages into all manner of fantastic shapes ; 
and, again, the capricious twists of the river itself, with its walls 
of tall, straight-stemmed gum-trees lining either bank. 

Clara was never tired of hearing Roland talk of his overland 
experiences and adventures down the great, long stream, in the 
days when the savage was a power in the land and a terror that 
the white man, in all the pride of his superiority, had to recognise. 
On the broad river, now in high flood, there was no dangerous 
navigation, and the energetic Tongs steamed on night and day, 
never stopping except to take in wood. The whistle at short in- 
tervals sounded its paean of triumph, wailed like a lost spirit or 
shrieked out its shrillest defiance. The captain never slept, or if 
he did, no one knew when or how. He seemed to be always at 
the wheel. He steered the boat, ate, drank, prayed, and, on 
occasion, swore there with undiminished force, but with all these 
multifarious occupations he appeared like a man only half satisfied. 
In this wide stretch of water and these long reaches, the steering 
did not occupy his energies sufficiently. Sometimes he even swung 
the wheel round for sheer lack of employment. 

They were now fast nearing the first port of call, and Grantley 
contemplated taking the coach thence to Adelaide. He knew his 
fellow-passengers were going on by the steamer, but his time was 
limited, and he had become weary of the monotony of the life on 


PAVING THE WAY 


316 

board the boat. On the last evening, as he sat on deck with Miss 
Ingleton, who was unusually silent, possibly thinking he would 
soon have left them, he said, after a long pause — 

‘ I have to thank you for making a river-trip, for the first time, 
really enjoyable to me.’ 

‘ I should like to know, Mr. Grantley, if you really mean what 
you say. I feel sure it is only a polite phrase such as men always 
use when the hour for parting is near. I am not vain enough to 
believe I have ever exercised, or ever shall exercise, the slightest 
influence on the life of a single human being.’ 

He looked at her with a surprised air. 

‘ That is rather a bitter speech for one so young ; you must be 
greatly valued and loved in your own family circle, as you certainly 
are by your sister-in-law here.’ 

She turned away impatiently, as she replied — 

' Oh, Agnes and I are very affectionate sisters, and the children 
are fond of me too, and, of course, that ought to be quite sufficient, 
as indeed it is. What more can any reasonable woman want ? ’ 

‘Well, every reasonable woman may look forward to being 
married, as doubtless you will be some day, and I shall envy the 
happy man.’ 

‘ Not you. You will neither envy that mythical individual — for 
he certainly does not exist — nor even think of me again after 
to-night.’ 

‘ That ’s unkind,’ he rejoined, ‘ I don’t so easily forget those I 
have had so much pleasure in knowing.’ 

‘ Forgive me,’ she exclaimed ; ‘ I hardly know what I am saying 
to-night.’ 

Then, in little more than a whisper, she added, ‘ I am thinking 
where I should have been but for you.’ 

‘ Miss Ingleton,’ he said, and the change in his tone made her 
start, ‘ I will tell you a story. Years ago a boy was thrown friend- 
less on the shores of South Australia. When in the last extremity, 
his life was saved by a mere child, it does not matter how. He 
was taken in by the relatives of that little girl, cared for, protected, 
fed, and later started in business. The boy and girl grew up to- 
gether, she good and beautiful, with no other companions of their 
own age. You may guess the result ; they could not do less than 
love each other, but you will never know the intensity of that 
passion. Once again the boy, now a man, was in dire peril, not 
only of death but of dishonour ; once again the girl, now a woman, 
by personal risk and heroism of which there are few parallels, 
saved him. After all this, surely there should have been a happy 
ending, according to the story books ; but it was not to be. They 
were severed, why and how it is needless to relate. It is enough 
to say that she was blameless ; all your sex, at least, would say so. 
She married, and he went out into the Australian interior, away 
from all old associations, trying in vain to forget. One thing he 
knows now, though it was not necessary to spend years in the 



Grantley tells his story to Miss Ingleton. 






r 


4 


t. 


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* • • 

i 

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* • 


-V 


4 









AN ACCIDENT AND ITS RESULTS 


317 


solitary bush to learn that — he has no love to give to any other 
woman, and he is not base enough to deceive and marry her 
without.’ 

She had listened, weeping silently. He now took her hand, 
pressed it, and was gone. 

Late that night the Plover stopped to meet the mail for the 
capital, and Roland Grantley took a seat thereon. 

‘ I ’ll take you up or down for nothing any time,’ said Captain 
Tongs, ‘ and welcome.’ 

‘ That ’s kind, but I won’t come unless you ’ll promise not to blow 
that infernal whistle more than twice every hour ; I don’t mind 
the swearing.’ 

The master laughed, and they parted. Going on board im- 
mediately, he blew the whistle long and loud, with extraordinary 
flourishes and variations, while the steamer wound round a great 
bend in the river, as a farewell salute and sign of friendship to the 
passenger by the night-coach. 

Lying sleepless in bed, Clara Ingleton knew what it meant, and 
that the man she had learned to love was gone and she must for- 
get him. No, she would never forget him ; he had saved her life 
and, until she had forced her company upon him, had held aloof. 
It was her own fault, and to her last hour she would think kindly 
of him, which meant, of course, that she would go on loving him 
secretly and never, no never, marry any one else. Poor little girl ! 
there are many happy days in store for you ; so dry your eyes and 
look hopefully forward to fulfilling woman’s highest destiny as the 
friend, counsellor, and comforter of man and the mother of his 
children. But such sweet dreams do not come to-night, nor for 
many more : for she finds it hard to think without pain of the in- 
teresting stranger who has crossed her path so pleasantly, only to 
disappear and leave an aching void in her heart. 


CHAPTER XV 

ROLAND LOSES A FRIEND 

A MONTH later Roland Grantley was on the same coach as evening 
fell, speeding into the town of Wentworth. On the box-seat with 
him sat our old friend Mr. Danker, a little older and sparer in 
frame, but just the same frank, good-humoured person that he 
always was. 

‘ Here we are at the Junction once more, Roland, my boy, though 
I suppose, now I am going to be one of your Riverine squatters, 
I must conform to present usages and call it Wentworth.’ 

They had come up from Adelaide together, Grantley on his way 


PAVING THE WAY 


318 

back to Moolahalla and his friend to take delivery of a station he 
had purchased in the back country. 

‘ It ’s a bit different,’ replied the other reflectively, ‘ since we first 
camped our mob of cattle where the town now stands. Ah well, 
the noble savage won’t keep us awake to-night.’ 

‘ For which I feel very thankful,’ said Danker, ‘ for two nights 
without sleep on this coach is enough to tire anybody ; of course, 
I don’t reckon Tom here, because he revels in it. I ’m told, Tom,’ 
addressing the driver, ‘that you are looking forward to having a 
nap for a few hours when your three years’ contract is up, unless 
the Government renew it ! ’ 

The great rough Jehu grinned, and being a man of few words, 
merely observed — 

‘ The fools in the town must be talking some rot 

or other ! ’ 

‘Now, Tom,’ continued Mr. Danker, ‘ we are approaching the 
purlieus of the important city that is to be, and you had better 
prepare for the dash with which you invariably begin and end a 
journey, or a change, in the delusive hope, I suppose, that pas- 
sengers will be such blockheads as to believe you ever rise to any 
pace above a jog trot when you are once out of sight.’ 

Quite impervious to the sarcasm, Tom straightened himself, 
shook the reins, and with a few sharp cuts of his formidable whip, 
set his team off at a gallop. 

‘ Handsomely done,’ said Danker, ‘ and I don ’t mind standing 
a drink to mark my appreciation,’ as, after a furious flight of short 
duration under the guiding hands of the taciturn coachman, the 
vehicle drew up at the door of Gunn’s Hotel. 

‘ I ’ll say this for Tom,’ observed the same gentleman later in 
the evening, ‘he drives the most untrained, unbroken, vicious lot 
of brutes I ever sat behind, and yet gets through to time better 
than any man in the country.’ 

‘ I haven’t one in my crowd as bad as the grey Mallee mare in 
Steve’s lot ; look out for her to-morrow, if she is put in. My 
opinion is she ought to be shot,’ growled Tom. 

‘ Luckily my life is insured,’ laughed Danker. ‘ None the less, 
I ’ll be on the watch for the wild Mallee mare. I ’m off to bed 
now to make up arrears of sleep.’ 

Next morning the Darling coach came round as soon as an early 
breakfast was over. It was driven by a slight young fellow, the 
Steve of yesterday’s conversation. The parcels and luggage were 
put in and away it went on to the punt, to be ferried across the 
river. That accomplished, the passengers took their places, and 
the team rolled it quietly away. 

‘Are your prads all as tractable as these ?’ asked Mr. Danker. 

* Not quite, sir,’ said Steve, ‘ but most of them are right enough, 
though sometimes when they have a long spell on good feed 
they get too big for their skins to hold them, and give a little 
trouble.’ 


ROLAND LOSES A FRIEND 


319 

Nothing more passed on the subject, and, as at the two changes 
during the day, each team started with only the usual plunge and 
dash, Mr. Danker forgot his apprehensions, and indeed the very 
existence of the ill-famed mare. At dusk they arrived at a small 
public-house on the river-bank, where they stayed for supper and 
fresh horses. At the end of the next stage it was customary to 
stop for the night, and, as they were well up to time thus far, they 
anticipated a successful day’s journey. 

There were several roughs drinking in the bar, and one woman 
better known than esteemed, but they were kept out of the dining- 
room, and as the viands were good, the travellers made a hearty 
meal. That over, the signal was given ‘all aboard.’ It was a 
dark night as Danker and Grantley took their accustomed seats 
on the box, while the woman just mentioned and the two men got 
inside the coach. The driver already occupied his post holding 
the wheelers. 

The leaders, an unruly pair, were then brought out and quickly 
attached, and the word to let them go was about to be given when 
there came a sound of horses’ feet on the still night air, and three 
or four horsemen rapidly rode up. 

‘ Bail up,’ commanded a loud voice, as, revolver in hand, a tall 
and powerful man rode up to one side of the coach, ‘ and hand 
out the mail-bags.’ 

‘ Or lose the number of your mess,’ added Cowler’s snarling 
tones from the other side, sending a cold shiver through Grantley’s 
frame as he heard them. 

The men, who were clinging to the animals of the team with all 
the desire to obey, were scarcely able, however, to hold them. 
They had taken fright, and the near leader, none other than the 
famous wild Mallee mare, a fiery grey, plunged forward with a 
tremendous bound, that broke the link coupling her swingle-bar 
to the main one, thus throwing her whole weight on to the reins, 
and plucking the coachman out of his seat between the wheelers. 
Danker, who sat next him, with the true instinct of an old driver, 
snatched at the falling ribbons, but in vain, — they were gone ; and 
away into the black night at headlong speed rushed the maddened 
horses entirely uncontrolled and uncontrollable, while several shots 
fired by the bushrangers rang out in their wake. 

A little to the left was the Darling bank, a perpendicular depth 
of sixty or seventy feet, and directly in front a thick forest of 
crooked leaning box-trees, through which it was impossible the 
coach could pass without being dashed to pieces. 

Both the men sitting there had experienced many perils, but 
never one more imminent than this. Each moment the line of 
bent timber and the precipice grew nearer, every second the gallop 
became swifter. Death by the fall down the one or the crash 
among the other seemed certain. Brains are active in moments of 
danger; and, though well knowing the risk he ran, Roland decided 
to spring off, and trust to escaping the bushrangers in the darkness. 


320 


PAVING THE WAY 


Light and active as he was, he landed on his feet, but was in- 
stantly turned over by the impetus on to his head and would pro- 
bably have been killed, but for a tall stiff hat he was wearing. 
Even with the protection this afforded him, the shock nearly 
stunned him. Danker followed, but being heavier and less agile, 
did not fare so well. As Grantley picked himself up he saw him 
hurled along the ground, and when he staggered to him, his friend 
was lying bareheaded, motionless, and unconscious. 

A little to the right the freebooters passed in pursuit of the flying 
coach, without observing them. Presently Roland coo-eed for 
assistance, and Steve, who, with the luck of the bush-whip, had 
fallen exactly between the polers, the vehicle going over him 
without inflicting a scratch, ran up, and under their united care the 
injured man recovered his senses. He managed to walk back to 
the hotel, but complained of great pain in his head, vomiting 
afterwards coming on ; and they had scarcely succeeded in getting 
him to a bed-room before he relapsed into insensibility again, 
with loud stertorous breathing. 

Steve now went out to try and ascertain what had become of the 
lost vehicle, and Grantley was left alone with his dying friend, for 
whom he felt there was little hope, as he knew enough of surgery 
to be aware that the symptoms were very unfavourable. 

Meantime the drunken debauch in the bar continued, assisted 
once more by the presence of the female passenger and her com- 
panions, who had hastily dropped out at the coach-door as soon 
as the bushrangers rode up. They were, however, loudly com- 
plaining of terrible injuries, requiring the inward application of 
various stimulants, though, of course, they were really unhurt. In 
vain Grantley indignantly expostulated at the noise they made ; 
they refused to believe Mr. Danker was seriously hurt, and pro- 
posed that he should be brought in to join their carousal. 

Later on, the landlady became furiously jealous of the frowsy 
passenger and torrents of foul language and mutual vituperation 
were poured out of each hag’s lips ; oaths were followed by blows ; 
these again by maudlin reconciliation, which was soon, however, 
interrupted by a general free fight. 

Nothing further was seen of the bushrangers, and as the mail- 
driver could not find the coach, he returned to watch with Grantley 
by the bedside of the sufferer, neither of them being able to 
exercise the slightest influence over the riotous crew who carried 
on their orgies with redoubled frenzy. 

At about three o’clock in the morning, when the pandemonium 
was at its height, Roland noticed a difference in his friend’s 
breathing, and, bending over him, saw that his eyes were open, as 
it seemed with a look of recognition in them ; then the light passed 
out of them for ever, and one of the truest of comrades, and 
staunchest of friends had gone on the last long journey. 

With reverent hands Grantley closed the eyes and straightened 
the limbs on the couch ; then he went out sick at heart, with the 


ROLAND LOSES A FRIEND 


321 

noise of the carousal striking louder than ever on his ears. At 
the outer door he met the woman of the house, who staggered up, 
and, with a drunken leer, stammered out the words — 

‘How is Mr. Danker?’ 

‘ Dead ! ’ said Roland sternly. 

‘ Dead ! ’ repeated the woman, half-sobered by the shock. 

‘Yes, dead in a vile scene like this, among a lot of abandoned 
wretches who, like yourself, disgrace humanity.’ 

Then he left her, and passed the rest of the night in pacing 
about in the open. 

Such was the miserable end of Andrew Danker : yet who can 
tell that he was conscious of his horrible surroundings? His 
sufferings were probably not great, and it may be that he entered 
the mysterious unknown as peacefully as the man who dies with 
weeping kin and friends ranged round his couch. 

On Grantley, however, his death, in the midst of the disgusting 
scenes which were being enacted in the small building, made a 
profound impression. He mourned for the esteemed friend and 
companion whom he had known so long and intimately, and his 
sorrow was intensified by the feeling that he died in such revolt- 
ing circumstances. The landlord, when the morning came, though 
still a drunken, sodden wretch, attempted to make excuses ; but 
he was repulsed with bitter, scathing language and contemptuous 
loathing. Fortunately, a steamer came up, and the captain at 
once consented to take the body to Pooncarrie township. 

‘I shall thus, thanks to your kindness,’ Roland said to the 
master, ‘be able to take my poor friend out of this horrible 
place and give him decent burial.’ 

The broken coach had been found with the two dead wheelers, 
one on either side of a sloping tree-trunk. The leaders were gone, 
nor were they recovered for several days. The top of the vehicle 
had been swept down, showing that, if the box passengers had 
retained their seat, in all probability they would have been killed. 
The mail-bags were torn open and rifled by the bushrangers, who 
were said to have obtained a considerable amount of booty. It 
was ascertained afterwards that, after effecting their purpose, they 
immediately left that part of the country, and, no police being 
near, pursuit was not attempted. 

On following the wheel-marks, it appeared that close to the 
edge of the thick timber the runaway team had swerved round 
away from the river and forest, no doubt in consequence of the 
near leader, the Mallee mare, having nothing to pull because of 
the breaking of the coupling, and thus going at a greater speed 
than the animal alongside her. It was, indeed, the well-known 
mare of evil repute, of which Tom had warned the dead man, 
that had caused the catastrophe, probably excited further by the 
arrival of the bushrangers. Steve had said nothing ; he did not 
wish to alarm the passengers by mentioning that the unruly, 
vicious brute would be one of the team, until they were under 

X 


PAVING THE WAY 


322 

way and the danger over. He had driven her often before, and, 
though she gave more trouble on each succeeding occasion, he did 
not like to incur the imputation of being afraid. Every precaution 
was taken, however ; the other horses were quiet, and two addi- 
tional men were employed to attach the traces, while the ostler 
kept a firm grip of the mare’s head. 

Unfortunately, when all was ready, there came the ‘ Bail up ! ’ of 
the bushrangers ; but even then all might have been well, if the 
coupling link had resisted that awful plunge ; the driver was both 
cool and skilful, and, once started, the galloping team might have 
been safely guided along the open track until exhaustion tamed 
them down to easy control. 

Grantley heard all these particulars after his friend had been 
consigned to his grave, and when he and Steve were continuing 
their journey and sadly talking over the mournful events of that 
miserable evening. 

‘ I ’ll never drive the brute again on any account,’ said the latter. 
‘As it is, I almost feel like a murderer, because Tom has often 
told me she would kill somebody.’ 

Roland did not reply, not wishing to add to the deep regret the 
driver evidently felt ; but he could not help thinking how culpably 
mad it was to harness to a coach on a dark night a dangerous 
brute like the notorious Mallee mare. 

‘ That makes another account for me to settle with Dan Cowler,’ 
he thought, ‘ when time and opportunity serve, and it shall not be 
my fault if it isn’t soon. I don’t suppose those shots were fired 
for the special purpose of killing me, or that the dog knew I was 
there, or he would have searched about and finished me.’ 

They were now winding round a curve of the river along some 
high cliffs that overhung the water far below, and began talking 
of the madness produced in horses by eating the Darling pea, 
which grew green and luxuriant in the rich meadow-land beneath. 

‘ Some,’ said Steve, ‘ are rendered stupid by it — they keep fat, 
but lose all their spirit ; others are downright mad, and do all 
sorts of silly things, even trying to climb trees ; generally, when 
they become as bad as that, they soon die.’ 

‘ I have only seen a few affected,’ answered Grantley ; ‘ the 
plant only grows in small quantities on the Upper Darling, not 
sufficient to do any injury.’ 

‘ They all get it here,’ replied the coachman, ‘ if allowed to run 
on the river-flats when the pea is in season. There are lots of 
tales told of the queer things they do when seriously affected. 
They say there is a cranky horse running out back here in the 
mallee that comes in to water on that big cliff— at least, he thinks 
he does. He is a pure white, and can be seen any night, some- 
times earlier, sometimes later, but he never fails to come and bend 
over the precipice, making as though he drank, though the water 
is two hundred feet below ; after which he goes away into the 
scrub again, as if satisfied.’ 


ROLAND LOSES A FRIEND 


323 


‘ Have you ever seen him?’ asked the traveller. 

‘No ; but I don’t often pass this part after dark.’ 

‘ Do you believe he is a real or a phantom horse ? ’ 

‘ I ’m blowed if I know ! ’ said Steve, ‘ but the darned yarn has 
been dinned into my ears till I think there must be something in 
it ; anyhow, I like to have a passenger when I go by here at night. 
Now, then, my beauties !’ and the long whip cracked, and over a 
good road the pace increased to ten miles an hour. 

‘You don’t go beyond MinindieP’ asked Grantley later, as 
evening closed in and they approached that would-be ‘city set 
on a hill.’ 

‘ No,’ replied the driver ; ‘it’s quite enough for any man to tool 
a team between here and Wentworth every week. Tom used to 
go right on to Wilcannia ; but he ’s a bullock. Six hundred miles 
every week, all the year round, he did.’ 

‘ And yet he is alive,’ was the answer, ‘ and never says anything 
about it, even when he is drunk ; at least, so I am told, for I 
never saw him in that exalted condition. There are the township 
lights. I hope, Steve, when you and I travel together again we 
may have a pleasanter journey.’ 

Three days later Roland Grantley arrived at Moolahalla. 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN THUNDERBOLT 

Months passed, and the prosperous squatter was still fully 
engaged with his station duties. The cattle and sheep were 
increasing so fast that the small number of white men employed 
had a hard life of it, and the blacks certainly got off not one whit 
easier. Roland, almost unaided, did the superintendence, and 
much of the active work also, sometimes riding two or three 
horses a day almost to a standstill. Careful selection was made 
through the flocks and herds, and the inferior animals were sent 
away to market, now that the season was favourable, as, indeed, 
had regularly been the case in previous years, when the roads 
were open. Prices ruled high, and the results were extremely 
satisfactory. There was also every prospect of a splendid clip 
of wool after such a magnificent year. 

Most of the pressing work had been got through, when rumours 
came of the bushrangers sticking up stations higher up the river. 
At first these were received with incredulity, as it had been 
generally believed that the freebooters had finally left the 
country. Then followed a well-authenticated account of a mail- 
coach having been stopped and robbed by masked men, supposed 


324 


PAVING THE WAY 


to be members of the same band who had shot Sergeant M‘Cabe 
and subsequently stuck up Moolahalla and ill-treated its owner. 

Grantley silently made his preparations, and the day following 
mounted the Star and, accompanied by Jollyboy, took his depar- 
ture up the river. No one knew his errand, and, though he 
carried arms, it was done so unostentatiously as to excite little 
remark. The black boy rode a good horse, and they made such 
long stages that in three days they arrived in the vicinity of the 
supposed haunts of the outlaws. As evening closed in they fortu- 
nately fell in with Inspector Hilton and two police-troopers, with 
whom they camped. 

That night Roland learned from the officer that the bush- 
rangers, four in number, had called at a small isolated public- 
house the previous day and enjoyed themselves, standing treat 
for three or four hours to all comers. There had been much 

bounce that the police and squatters combined dared not 

meet them, and from hints dropped it appeared likely that they 
intended sticking up Tailla homestead. 

‘ It is very lucky I have met you, Mr Grantley, as the rest of 
my force, including the black tracker, I despatched yesterday on 
what I now fear is a false scent across the river. I am, therefore, 
more than ever delighted to receive you as a volunteer ; and your 
boy, who I know is an excellent tracker, will enable us to follow 
up the quarry hot-foot to-morrow.’ 

‘Of one thing I should like to be assured,’ replied Roland, ‘just 
to whet my ardour. Is the evil-looking scoundrel who escaped 
with the wounded leader from the encounter on the Warrego with 
these fellows ? ’ 

‘I believe he is,’ said Hilton, ‘from what I heard to-day ; but I 
am not certain. There was a man like him, and just as surly and 
ill-tempered.’ 

‘ I am your man,’ said Grantley, ‘ and when I begin you may 
depend on me ; but I confess my sole object is to bring that villain 
Cowler to account.’ 

‘ I quite understand,’ replied the other ; ‘ and, if you will tackle 
him, my men and I will answer for the rest, unless they have all 
the luck and the cover too.’ 

A careful watch was kept throughout the night to guard against 
the possibility of a surprise, but it passed without anything tran- 
spiring to excite alarm. 

In the morning an early start was made, and in a short time the 
tracks of the enemy were picked up, making straight out to a 
range of hills. About midday the party approached them, and 
then it became necessary to exercise caution so as not to fall into 
an ambuscade. The track led up a gully in the range, some parts 
of which were so narrow that a few well-armed and determined men 
might defy thrice their number. None the less, the party pushed 
on until the pass was covered over with thick timber, when the 
nspector became exceedingly uneasy and halted his band. 




Suddenly Jollyboy startled them by appearing in their midst. 


D. 325 



THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN THUNDERBOLT 325 

‘ This is risking too much,’ he said to Grantley. ‘ If they catch 
us in a place like this, or even like some that we have come 
through, they can pop us off from the rocks without our being 
able to fire a shot.’ 

Jollyboy heard the remark. 

‘No good pull away like it this,’ he said; ‘you all about sit 
down long bush ; mine go long mountain, first time make-a-light 
(see) white fellow, then come back yabber (tell).’ 

‘ Can you trust him ? ’ asked Hilton. 

‘ I will answer for that,’ replied Grantley. 

‘ Go on, then, my boy,’ said the officer. 

Jollyboy divested himself of nearly all his clothes and his boots, 
and was soon lost in the low, thick bushes covering the side of the 
hill. Watching carefully, they presently saw him for a moment 
on the crest, and then he disappeared. For nearly two hours they 
waited without hearing a sound except the twitter of the little 
birds among the leaves or the cry of a hawk circling above them. 
Suddenly the black startled them by appearing in their midst. 
The police, indeed, instinctively raised their weapons, to the delight 
of Jollyboy, who showed every gleaming tooth in his head in 
triumph at the surprise he had given them. 

‘ That one white fellow pull away,’ he said ; ‘ mine been make- 
a-light camp. You come along now.’ 

When on the way his master elicited that the bushrangers had 
left their stronghold about two hours before, their tracks making 
for the opposite side of the range. 

‘That one Cowler there, mine think it,’ he continued, with a 
significant look at his master ; ‘ mine been seeum track belonging 
to him.’ 

Grantley spoke a few sentences to the boy in his own language, 
and then said to the inspector — 

‘ We are just about two hours behind them. They passed the 
night behind that knoll in front of us ; and the man I am in search 
of is one of the gang.’ 

‘Good news,’ returned Hilton. ‘I know the country on the 
other side of the hills, and, if we can overtake them there, we have 

them, as it is fairly open. In these d d ranges they might 

give us the slip, though I daresay you, with your grand horse 
used to cattle-hunting, and the black boy, could give a good 
account of yourselves.’ 

‘ If I can only get within sight of that scoundrel,’ answered the 
squatter, ‘ I ask no more. Of course, he may shoot me or the 
Star; but that’s not easy in a hot chase, and I won’t give him 
much leisure to aim.’ 

‘ You seem to think they will run rather than fight ?’ 

‘Don’t such villains nearly always do so when they are 
fairly matched and the way is open?’ contemptuously asked 
Grantley. 

‘Ay, that is always that sneaking dog Cowler’s practice. He 


PAVING THE WAY 


326 

never fights when he can run away ; but the big fellow they call 
Captain Thunderbolt is made of different stuff.’ 

‘ He ’s your business, and I have just enough feeling for him to 
hope you may shoot him dead ,* my man will only get his deserts 
by being well hanged.’ 

‘Once he is captured, I will answer for that consummation,’ 
said the inspector. 

‘ There is a little uncertainty even about that, though,’ replied 
Roland. ‘ We can both call to mind several atrocious scoundrels 
who have escaped the noose, though their guilt was clearly 
proved.’ 

‘ Notably Dareson — that bloodthirsty, murdering villain, the 
reputed scion of a noble English family, whom I caught myself. 
But, after all, what did it matter ? To a man like him it’s almost 
worse to be imprisoned for life. He was like a caged tiger, eager 
to kill anything ; and once, when he had just done solitary for a 
week for a savage assault on a warder, he promptly knocked down 
the next who came near and stamped on him until he killed 
him.’ 

‘Yet you implied just now that it was not of much importance 
whether the brute was hanged or not,’ observed .Roland. ‘It 
seems to me that it was of some consequence to the man he 
killed, not to mention those he injured. I presume they hanged 
the wretch to mend matters, and so rapacious justice was at 
length appeased.’ 

‘ Not a bit of it. There was some talk of bringing him to trial, 
but his mental condition was called in question. His fits of un- 
governable rage were considered to denote insanity, and, while 
the discussion proceeded, Dareson settled the matter by turning 
up his own toes without the assistance of any one. The man 
simply could not live in confinement, and it would have been 
more merciful to have swung him off at first, regardless of the 
noble relatives’ expostulations. Here we are at Thunderbolt and 
Company’s camp ; not badly hidden, that “ humpy ” in the hill- 
side.’ 

They had wound round the knoll, and stood in a small valley 
nestling among the hills. It was not above half a mile in length, 
and much less in breadth ; then it abruptly narrowed to a gorge, 
which presently crept up through a saddle in the range. Along 
this and over the elevation Jollyboy indicated the tracks would 
lead them. 

The ‘ humpy ’ proved to be an excavation in the broken side of 
the hill, the entrance being closed by slanting timbers covered 
with earth. Inside it was only a few feet square, but was sufficient 
to shelter with some degree of comfort four or five men. The 
officer made a brief inspection. 

‘Nothing of importance,’ he said; ‘some rations, clothes, and 
old fire-arms not of much use. We’ll proceed, Mr. Grantley. I 
expect the proprietors are on some dark deed intent.’ 


THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN THUNDERBOLT 327 

The party again continued, passing up the gorge, Jollyboy 
leading and following the tracks with the marvellous precision of 
his race, over the saddle of the range and down a winding valley 
on the opposite side to the level ground, clothed with thick mulga. 
From the hill-top they saw the flat country stretching far away to 
the east, with small plains set in the dull green foliage of the open 
bush beyond the broad margin of forest that fringed the base of 
the elevated land on which they stood. The trail led straight 
through the wood, and in the softer earth showed distinctly to 
every member of the band. For some miles not a word was said ; 
then the sergeant observed — 

‘ The tracks are making directly for Tailla station. Some big 
improvements have lately been begun there, and these fellows 
probably expect money may arrive by the mail. It is due there 
early this evening.’ 

‘ How far is it from here ?’ asked Grantley. 

‘ About twelve miles. If we are not thrown off the scent by hard 
ground or devilment of some kind, we ought to arrive in good time.’ 

A flock of sheep crossing the track did, however, delay them 
considerably, so that it was late in the afternoon when, from the 
thicket in which they were, the station-building could be dis- 
tinguished among a grove of eucalyptus trees. A halt was now 
made and a consultation held as to the best way to approach 
without attracting the attention of the bushrangers, who, they had 
every reason to suppose, were in possession of the homestead. To 
the left the line of timber continued to within a short distance of 
the buildings, and it was determined to retreat into the cover of 
the forest and endeavour to reach them unobserved from that 
direction. . The inspector, who knew the locality, now moved in 
advance, and, after taking them round a considerable way through 
comparatively thick scrub, suddenly brought them right in front 
of the house. Then it at once became evident that the men they 
sought were not there. Two or three individuals could be seen 
walking about, who, directly they observed the troop, hastened to 
meet them. 

‘Just in time,’ exclaimed a fine, tall man with a bright, keen 
manner ; ‘ the Captain’s gang left us not an hour ago to stick up 
the mail, which is now overdue.’ 

‘Have they done you any damage, Mr. Ingleton?’ asked the 
officer. 

‘ Nothing particular, except taking all the fire-arms and helping 
themselves generally to rations, spare cash, clothes, and grog. To 
finish up with, they drove all the horses away with them to keep 
us safe, but of course they will leave them far enough off to be out 
of our reach.’ 

‘That’s a bad job, for I hoped for your assistance in pursuing 
them.’ 

‘ Only too glad,’ was the ready reply, ‘ if I had a nag and shoot- 
ing-iron, but 1 ’m no use without.’ 


PAVING THE WAY 


328 

‘ The only thing I can do, then, is to send the boy back with the 
horses, if we find them and require your help. Now we must 
be off.’ 

‘ Do, if you can ; and good luck to you,’ replied Mr. Ingleton, as 
they galloped away. 

They had scarcely proceeded a couple of miles when a shot 
rang out, followed by another and another in quick succession. 
Pressing on, they soon saw what had occurred. By the side of a 
broken and sparsely timbered dry channel, the mail-coach was 
pulled up and the traces cut. The driver still sat on the box, 
holding the reins of the team in front of him ; but if he had cared 
to run at the imminent hazard of having a bullet put through him, 
which he didn’t, he was powerless to move the heavy vehicle. 

The letter-bags lay on the ground half-ransacked, while near them 
stood three of the bushrangers, evidently interrupted in the work 
of rifling their contents. A little on one side was a fourth, covering 
the occupants of the coach with a revolver ; while, beyond, their 
horses were fastened to a tree under the high bank, where they 
had evidently been placed so that they might not be observed 
until her Majesty’s mail was close up, when the robbers had 
sprung across the road with levelled weapons. 

As soon as the police appeared, the bushrangers dropped over 
the bank or took shelter behind the trees, the big, dark man 
already described as the Captain having first sternly warned the 
driver not to attempt to move, at his peril. 

^We must dismount,’ ordered the inspector, ‘leave our horses 
with the black boy, and get near the scoundrels under cover ; they 
would pick us off from behind that ditch, if we tried riding up, 
before we could fire a shot.’ 

Promptly at the word each man sprang to the ground, and, 
leaving Jollyboy, who was grinning from ear to ear, in charge of 
the animals, advanced on the enemy. At first they proceeded 
rapidly, paying little attention to cover, but presently a trooper 
was slightly wounded. It then became evident that they had to 
deal with practised marksmen, and that it was necessary to be 
prudent. 

Grantley’s keen eye had early marked his man as the one 
standing near the coach, and he had seen him retreat over the 
bank. The leader, disdaining safer position, merely stepped 
behind a tree and began firing on the police, the officer attracting 
most of his notice. Both parties were so well concealed and 
cautious, that the shooting continued for at least half an hour 
without result. Then Roland, becoming impatient, began to creep 
up the bed of the creek nearer his foe, firing at every opportunity. 
He soon saw that Cowler became uneasy at this evidence of 
implacable determination to kill or capture him, for he more than 
once sought safer refuge further back. From his last stand he 
sent a ball within an inch of the squatter’s head. The escape was 
so narrow that Grantley recognised the necessity of greater care. 


THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN THUNDERBOLT 329 

and, watching keenly for an unguarded movement on the part of 
the robber, he observed an elbow projecting from the trunk of a 
big tree, behind which he knew he lay. Aiming truly and steadily, 
he fired, when the limb appeared to sink lower, exposing more of 
the body. Again he fired ; surely now he had got the ruffian. 
Just then he heard a cry from Jollyboy — 

‘ Boree yan !’ (The white devil is going.) 

In a flash of thought he understood the trick and that his enemy 
was escaping. The same thought seemed to strike Thunderbolt, 
for with a loud oath he turned round in time to see the traitor 
mounted on his horse speeding across the plain. In his surprise 
he unconsciously exposed himself, and a bullet from Hilton’s rifle 
crashed into his brain. Then the troopers rushed in, and the two 
remaining bushrangers threw up their hands and surrendered. 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE BREAK-UP OF THE GANG 

Roland, engrossed withlhe one thought that his foe was escaping, 
and scarcely noticing the fall of the leader of the bushrangers, ran 
for his horse to give chase. Jollyboy on his part had watched the 
combat with absorbing interest. Himself out of range of the 
bullets, it was a new and delightful sensation to see the white man 
use his deadly fire-arms against men of his own colour. But for 
the fact that his master was with them, all his sympathies would 
have been inimical to the police and with the freebooters, as the 
guardians of law and order inspired more terror than affection 
among his people. 

When, however, Covvler in that cowardly manner sneaked out 
of the fight, leaving his mates to their fate, he recognised that it 
would be a reflection upon his keen sight and reputation as a 
tracker if he allowed such tactics to be adopted without giving 
warning. Besides, he had observed the ruse practised to outwit 
his employer, and that could not be suffered to succeed ; had it 
been one of the troopers who had been deceived, Jollyboy would 
have been looking the other way. Until the robber mounted 
(taking his chiefs horse, as better than his own), he did not divine 
that his object was flight, and this gave the villain the advantage 
of a start. 

Accordingly he gave the alarm, and hastily tying up the other 
horses, jumped on his own and set off in pursuit, to keep the fugi- 
tive in sight, knowing that Mr. Grantley would instantly follow. 
With all his haste, it took the latter some time to reach the Star 
and detach the reins from those of the others ; but, once on his 


330 


PAVING THE WAY 


back, he dashed across the diy creek at a pace that augured ill for 
Dan Cowler’s chance of eluding capture. 

Nearly two miles in front of him on the plain was the black boy, 
and fully as far beyond him there rose a little cloud of dust cover- 
ing the course of the ruffian, to bring whom to justice Roland felt 
almost willing to give his life. Evidently he was making for the 
ranges, and once in them, with darkness setting in, he would be 
safe ; probably he would even escape if he could only reach the 
fringe of thick timber lining their base. Grantley set his teeth 
hard, and, sitting down on his horse, set himself to ride a long 
waiting race, to be successful in which, he must gauge the speed 
and endurace of the Star to a fraction. 

‘ There is not another horse in Riverina,’ he muttered, * that can 
keep up this pace for twelve miles, and those hills are not a yard 
nearer.' 

On, on, he could see the space dividing him from Jollyboy per- 
ceptibly decrease, though the boy rode the second-best hack of all 
the good steeds on Moolahalla. The close, dark, well-defined 
wall of forest, too, was rapidly nearing, and almost on its verge a 
black spot was seen making impatiently for its shelter. A few 
more strides and the Star was racing neck and neck with his com- 
panion, the blackboy’s horse, which was for a moment excited by 
generous equine emulation to redoubled exertion, but which soon 
fell behind, unable to sustain the strain. 

‘ Follow on, to the last,’ said his master to Jollyboy in a hoarse 
whisper, as he passed him. 

Afterwards, when telling the thrilling tale many a time and 
oft, by the camp-fire, to his admiring fellow-countrymen, with 
numerous embellishments, Jollyboy invariably wound up with the 
remark — 

‘My word, that one ’Tar balara murray yarraman, close up 
cunika,’ meaning that he had the speed of lightning. 

A wild exhilaration fired Grantley’s blood, more exciting than 
any he had ever felt when crashing through the thick, stiff mulga 
or mallee scrub at headlong speed after the wild bush-cattle. For 
a while he grasped the saddle with his knees and drove the Star 
at his utmost pace, determined to come up with the bushranger 
before he entered the forest. 

The fugitive, too, rode a magnificent animal, taken by the man 
who now lay dead by the dry creek back yonder from one of the 
best studs in New South Wales ; but the great horse behind him 
now covered four yards to his three. Into the bush they plunged 
at length, and, as they did so, the pursuer could see the terror 
depicted on his enemy’s aspect. He had turned in his saddle to 
fire, in the vain hope that the shot might wound horse or man and 
check pursuit. Oh that he could send a bullet into that gleaming 
white star, or into the stern, resolute face of the rider ! Again and 
again he fired, but the distance was too great, or his hand too 
unsteady from the motion ; yet he dared not stay to take aim. 


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Roland struck out with his clenched left hand, at the bushranger’s 

scowling face. 


THE BREAK-UP OF THE GANG 


331 

Then the crashing boughs and line of dust alone showed the 
path of the flying outlaw. 

The sun had set, and in that forest land, beneath those close, 
overhanging boughs, it was almost dark. But, reckless of all but 
the fact that the man he had sworn to be avenged upon was 
before him, and on the threshold of escape, the squatter dashed 
forward. 

Presently the trees became smaller and more bush-like, and the 
ground stony and rising. Shots were now frequently exchanged ; 
but on horse-back at full speed, and more particularly in timber, 
only the most expert of marksmen can shoot straight with a 
revolver, except by the merest fluke. 

They were already mounting the hill-side, approaching the rocks 
which the fugitive intended to throw himself amongst and fly on 
foot, and his horse was labouring heavily. A few more yards and 
he would be safe. He twisted round in his seat and hurled his 
empty weapon with vindictive force at his pursuer. It caught him 
on the right arm, raised to defend his head, and dashed his pistol 
from his hand, for a moment paralysing the limb, and all but 
tumbling him from his saddle ; but the Star swept on unchecked, 
and in another moment the foes were side by side. Dropping his 
rein, Roland struck out with his clenched left hand, straight and 
true, at the bushranger’s scowling face, and dashed him to the 
ground, stunned and motionless. 

It was well for the conqueror he did so, for, though the exhausted 
horse of the fallen man stopped nearly dead in his tracks, the 
impetus of his speed carried the Star many yards on, with his rider 
utterly defenceless. But there was no timely recovery for the un- 
conscious ruffian, and long before he could recall his scattered 
senses Roland returned to the spot ready to finish his work. With 
a savage joy he snapped the same pair of handcuffs, from which 
he himself had been delivered by Miola, on the powerless wrists 
of the unhappy wretch, and then stood over him to wait for assist- 
ance. 

Jollyboy came first, and the prisoner was secured beyond the 
hope of escape, never more to roam the boundless wilds of broad 
Riverina. His Nemesis had found him, and by the hands of the 

man he hated more than any other. Ah, but for that d d fleet 

horse he would have reached the rocks, and there at least have 
been a match for his enemy. Up among them he could have found 
a sheltered spot, where a store of fire-arms was hid, from which he 
might have shot down the detested squatter and all who followed 
him as they approached. 

As he cowered on the ground some such thoughts as these 
passed in a confused way through the brigand’s bewildered brain, 
while his captor stood by, stern and silent, his glance wandering 
from the captive to the horses, gasping for breath with heaving 
flanks and distended nostrils. Suddenly the Star cocked his 
pointed ears and gazed down upon the mass of woodland below. 


332 


PAVING THE WAY 


Then came on the breeze a faint ‘ coo-ee ’ far away in the depths 
of the leafy maze, and Roland knew that the Inspector was running 
their trail. Loudly he returned the signal, while the black boy 
set fire to a bush. 

Attracted by the sound and the glare, it was soon evident, from 
the crash of sticks and the clatter of galloping hoofs, that some 
one was approaching them, and in a few minutes the officer rode 
up. A glance was sufficient to take in the whole scene. 

‘I congratulate you, Mr. Grantley, on having performed a 
splendid feat in pursuing and capturing that man when he 
had so great a start. I scarcely hoped you would be success- 
ful, though I felt there was a chance with that grand animal 
of yours.’ 

‘ What about the others ? ’ asked Roland. 

‘ The captain is shot dead and the remaining two are taken. By- 
the-bye, there were two ladies and a couple of children in the coach 
all the time, but they were so dreadfully frightened during the 
firing that they never put their heads out ,* indeed, I believe one 
was in a dead faint.’ 

‘ Who were they ? ’ asked Grantley, ‘and what have you done 
with the prisoners ? ’ 

‘ I only waited,’ returned Hilton, ‘to secure the bushrangers and 
make certain the leader was dead before racing after you ; but I 
could see some of the Station people coming, so I left orders for 
all to go on there, where we will follow them.’ 

The dejected robber was made to mount his horse, the animal 
being led by Jollyboy, while Grantley and the Inspector rode close 
behind. Hilton was in high spirits. Promotion and the high 
reward offered for arresting such noted offenders and breaking up 
the most notorious gang that ever terrorised New South Wales 
could not fail to be his ; for, of course, Mr. Grantley was too much 
of the gentleman to touch blood-money. The black boy certainly 
would not be actuated by any such scruples, but then he could be 
easily satisfied. 

The squatter quickly set these misgivings at rest by warmly 
congratulating him on his prospects, at the same time protesting 
that, as his object was now accomplished, his interest in the matter 
was over, and he wished to return home without delay, and not 
appear more than was absolutely necessary in the subsequent pro- 
ceedings. 

‘ Surely nothing more will be required than to say that the flying 
ruffian was caught after an exciting chase and brought back by 
Inspector Hilton.’ 

‘There is no occasion to detain you,’ answered that officer. ‘ I 
should be ungrateful indeed if I put you to any inconvenience after 
the great service you have rendered both the police force and the 
country. I purpose taking my prisoners on by the coach to- 
morrow, so as to lose no time in relieving myself of the responsi- 
bility of their safe-keeping.’ 


THE BREAK-UP OF THE GANG 


333 


‘ I am afraid/ said Grantley, ‘ I cannot claim merit for patriot- 
ism, but must admit that I fought for my own hand.’ 

‘ It does not in the least matter what was your motive. It ought 
surely to be sufficient to know that, without your valuable assist- 
ance, Thunderbolt and his gang would be at their devil’s work 
still.’ 

‘ Do you know,’ replied Grantley, ‘ I feel half sorry for that cour- 
ageous scoundrel, and yet it is better to be decently shot than 
ignominiously hanged.’ 

‘ Tastes differ,’ was the cool answer ; ‘ I should have preferred 
taking him on alive ; but the reward is just the same in either 
case, and the community is well rid of a pest. Such skunks as 
this in front of us are never very dangerous, unless they form part 
of a band with a bold fellow, like the captain, as leader.’ 

‘ Have you a strong case against this Dan Cowler ?’ 

‘ Strong enough to hang him a dozen times,’ said Hilton. ‘ The 
sergeant he shot on the Warrego will probably be the particular 
charge we shall rely upon, but there are several others quite 
as bad.’ - 

‘ I hope I shall never see his face again, that’s all,’ replied the 
squatter. There are the Station lights and I ’m glad of it, for my 
arm feels stiff and sore where he struck me with the revolver.* 

A few moments more and they were being welcomed by the 
owner with true bush hospitality. On hearing of Grantley’s injury, 
he insisted on applying hot fomentations, which quickly had a 
marked effect in allaying the inflammation. This done, the patient, 
with his arm in a sling, was ushered into a well-lighted and com- 
fortable sitting-room, and, to his intense astonishment, found 
himself confronted by Clara Ingleton. She came forward at 
once. 

‘Oh, Mr. Grantley, you have again laid me under a load of 
obligation. How can we — how can I — ever hope to repay you?’ 

‘ I am quite at a loss,’ he answered. ‘ In what way have I 
merited these thanks ?’ 

‘Why, don’t you know,’ she cried, ‘that Mrs. Ingleton and I 
were in the coach stuck up by those horrid bushrangers, when 
you, like a gallant knight, came to our rescue.’ 

‘ And then ran away,’ he replied, ‘ leaving to others the pleasing 
duty of relieving you. No ; I only learned there were ladies in 
the vehicle when returning from the pursuit of the worst villain of 
the lot, and even then had no idea that you were one of them.’ 

‘ And if you had known it,’ she involuntarily asked, ‘ would that 
have checked the ardour of your hot chase ? ’ 

‘ Not a bit,’ he said frankly ; ‘ I had an account to settle with 
that man, and I can imagine nothing that I would have permitted 
to interfere with my doing so.’ 

There was such a bitter intensity in his tone, that she looked at 
him with a startled surprise. 

* Is it settled? and are you any the happier?’ 


334 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘ That is a double-barrelled question, but I ’ll answer both parts 
at once. When it ’s finally settled, I shall be satisfied.’ 

‘ And when will that be ? ’ 

‘When he’s hanged,’ he replied, almost fiercely. 

She recoiled from him with mingled horror and astonishment. 
When she had travelled with him, during that happy three weeks 
on the river-steamer, she saw no signs of this suppressed vindic- 
tive passion. Now she noticed that his arm was in a sling. 

‘ I hope you are not wounded,’ she said, ‘ whatever may have 
been your motive in hunting down the unfortunate man.’ 

‘ It is nothing,’ he answered, ‘ not even caused by a shot ; 
simply a commonplace bruise, which will probably be well to- 
morrow. But how is it you are so little upset by this most 
unpleasant affair.'’ and Mrs. Ingleton, how is she?’ 

‘ Oh, I am an Australian girl, whose susceptibilities are not too 
acute or sensitive to prevent me from quickly recovering from a 
fright. As to my sister-in-law, she fainted at the first fire, and I 
was too much frightened to be of any use. Each time there was 
a report from a rifle or revolver, I just covered my ears up, but 
all the same I couldn’t help looking out through the window. I 
saw the bushranger ride away, and you follow on that beautiful 
horse. Then the inspector came up and told us that all was 
over, that the leader was killed, and the two others had sur- 
rendered. While we were collecting our wits a little, my brother 
arrived on the scene, and of course his wife at once felt safe and 
consoled. The harness was put to rights and we came on here, 
my brother declaring that the fight would have been a splendid 
success, but for the escape of the greatest rascal of the whole 
crew. Now comes the postscript: you asked, “How is Mrs. 
Ingleton ?” — She is very tired and has gone to bed, leaving me to 
apologise for her and to act as hostess.’ 

‘ It is quite unnecessary to do the former, and nothing could be 
more charming than the way you do the latter.’ 

‘ Very politely and gallantly said, for a man who left us captive 
in a horrid, stuffy coach, and rode off on his fleet steed on other 
exploits intent. Here comes my brother, and, as we cannot keep 
up our enthusiasm, even for heroic deeds, without eating, and 
dinner is waiting, we will go in to it.’ 

Grantley now learned that Mr. Ingleton had lately purchased 
Tailla Station, and that he had been there for several weeks since 
taking delivery. He had written for his wife and sister, who were 
staying with friends about a hundred miles distant, to join him 
there, but did not anticipate their coming for another fortnight. 

‘ I was never more surprised in my life,’ he said, ‘ than when I 
found them in the mail-coach ; but it appears that a young lady, 
the daughter of their hostess, was attacked by typhoid, and the 
doctor thought it prudent for all visitors to leave. And now, Mr. 
Grantley, having explained how it is that we are here to spring 
such a surprise upon you, though indeed the surprise has been 


THE BREAK-UP OF THE GANG 


335 


mutual, I must express how deeply I am indebted to you for all 
your kindness to Mrs. Ingleton and my sister. From them I 
have heard so much of you, that I am determined not to relinquish 
the pleasure of your society, at least until you have recovered from 
your injuries, and as long after as possible.’ 


CHAPTER XVIII 

GHOSTS 

When morning came. Inspector Hilton departed with his troopers 
and the prisoners, the latter in the coach, and in due course de- 
livered them over to the governor of her Majesty’s gaol at 
Bathurst. There they were tried in strict conformity with the law 
made and provided to deal with such malefactors, and sentenced 
to death for murder and highway robbery. The governor of the 
province was pleased, in consideration of the youth of the younger 
convicts, to commute their sentences to imprisonment for life. 
But to Cowler there was no leniency shown — his record was of 
too dark a dye ; and he suffered the extreme penalty of the law, 
with a curse on Roland Grantley upon his lips. During his life 
he had been frequently charged with cowardice, and we know he 
was a low, repulsive ruffian, but it must be allowed that when 
death came, he met it with fortitude. Some said his kicking his 
boots off amongst the crowd that surrounded the gallows was 
mere bravado. Perhaps it was ; in any case the subject is not a 
savoury one, and it is without regret that we finally part with Mr. 
Dan Cowler in these pages. 

Over-night resolutions may seem to be of the most irrevocable 
character, but the morning not infrequently alters the most 
adamantine resolve. Grantley had determined to start for home 
immediately after breakfast, but, to begin with, his arm was still 
extremely painful and he still felt very tired. Then, again, where 
was the urgent necessity that he should leave such pleasant 
quarters in hot haste ? His horses would be all the better for a 
spell. The latter argument derived additional force from an 
inspection of Jollyboy’s steed, which showed unmistakable evi- 
dence of yesterday’s gruelling. Even the steel-wire muscles of 
the Star gave signs of the great effort of the preceding evening’s 
gallop. 

After a careful examination of both animals, the black boy, to 
his extreme relief, received orders to turn them out in the pad- 
dock again, and disport himself as he pleased, which he proceeded 
to do by going to sleep for most of the day. 

Roland was the recipient of much attention and even some pet- 


PAVING THE WAY 


336 

ting from the ladies. His arm had to be fomented and bandaged, 
Miss Clara satisfying herself that the commonest humanity de- 
manded this. He was a guest, and had done them an immense 
service ; besides, his injury was received in their defence, as it 
were. She must be civil to him, there could be no doubt of that, 
while he stayed. This reasoning was most conclusive, but it did 
not require that Miss Ingleton should feel restless and wander 
aimlessly about, when the visitor was taken by his host to look at 
some of the stock and kept out of doors for an unconscionable 
time, as is the provoking manner of men, particularly squatters. 

The afternoon made amends, however, for Mr. Ingleton went 
ofif on station business, and the mistress of the house had domestic 
duties to occupy her, so that the guest was left to the care of the 
young lady. The situation was thus decidedly favourable to 
violent love-making ; the wounded hero alone with the rescued 
damsel in a country house. She, too, was fair to see as any of 
the bewitching daughters of Eve, as well as bright and animated 
in manner and conversation ; yet the gallant allowed the day to 
pass without speaking one word of admiration, still less of love. 

As evening fell, he strolled away on the first opportunity by 
himself, angry and impatient that he was not stirred by her 
beauty and other attractions. 

‘ It is useless,’ he muttered bitterly, ‘ I shall never more love a 
woman ; I will bid my latest dream good-bye and leave here 
to-morrow. If I could but have felt the slightest love, as I under- 
stand it, for this girl, I would ask her even yet to be my wife, and 
honestly try to forget the past, but it cannot be. In her presence 
I am only the more reminded of Petrel, and the old, all-absorbing 
love is strong as ever.’ 

Long he strove with himself, and, when he returned, it was 
with a moody brow and constrained manner. On retiring for the 
night, he intimated that he must deny himself the pleasure of 
a further stay, and start for home to prepare for the coming 
shearing. 

To this proposal Mr. Ingleton refused to listen. 

‘Not at all,’ he said, ‘ you shall remain for a week yet ; then I 
will drive you part of the way, it will be easier than riding, and I 
am going your way.’ 

In vain Grantley protested ; he simply pooh-poohed all objec- 
tions, and finally left the room, promising to return in a few 
moments. Clara, during this colloquy, had passed with an ab- 
sorbed air out of the open window on to the verandah, where 
Roland now followed her. 

‘Miss Ingleton,’ he said warmly, ‘do not think I am insensible 
of your kindness, for I deeply feel all that you have done and all 
that you are willing to do.’ 

‘ If we are to believe these protestations,’ she replied, affecting a 
bright tone, ‘ why are you in so great a hurry to leave us ?’ 

‘I left Moolahalla at a very inconvenient time for a specific 


GHOSTS 


337 

object, which has been accomplished, and I am now anxious to 
return to my duties.’ 

‘ And we, your old friends, whom you cover with obligations, 
count for nothing in this rigorous regard for duty ? ’ 

For a moment he turned away as if he would have left her ; 
then he came back to her side. 

‘Miss Ingleton,’ he said, ‘this afternoon 1 resisted a great 
temptation. It was to profess a love I cannot feel. I am a lonely 
man with a sorrow that never leaves me. From a selfish stand- 
point it would be pleasant to have some one to love and console 
me by her sweet and gentle presence. Once I thought of asking 
you to be my wife, but it would neither be for your happiness nor 
mine. It is better that I should go, and that you should forget 
that such a man ever crossed your path. There is a brighter 
future in store for you than any it is in my power to offer.’ 

She leaned on the back of a chair, as if for support, while he 
spoke, but now drew herself up. 

‘ I will not affect to misunderstand you,’ she replied, ‘for I owe 
you too much to do that. I was wrong to wish you to remain 
after what you told me when we parted last, but there seemed to 
be a change in you. And — and — forgive me and good-bye ! ’ 

When he looked up, she was gone. 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

Roland Grantley slept little that night, but appeared at break- 
fast fully equipped for the road. Many were the regrets of his 
host and hostess at his departure, though they ceased to urge his 
remaining. Clara said nothing on the subject, but with her own 
pretty hands she prepared some lunch for the traveller, and, when 
he left, shook hands bravely, as women deeply wounded can do. 

She even went out to the Star and patted the arched neck, then, 
as he bent his proud head towards her, she gently kissed the white 
star in the broad frontal. It was her last farewell to horse and 
rider, neither of whom she was to see again. Then she went to 
her room and from her window watched them fading away in the 
distance across the plain, all the while silently bidding adieu to 
her love’s young dream. Alas ! how different it might have been, 
both for her and for him, if the Fates had been less inexorable ! 
But not so will the Stern Sisters condone the sins of those who 
barter away for a mess of pottage, or even vast stores of worldly 
wealth, the enduring love of a life. 

The owner of Moolahalla returned home with very mixed feel- 
ings. A profound depression weighed upon him during the whole 
journey. It was not that he regretted the opportunity which he 
had thrown away of asking Clara Ingleton to share his lot, for he 
never doubted such a step would have ended disastrously ; but it 
did seem hard that he could never forget his youthful passion, or 
even learn to think of it with composure. It was, however, useless 
struggling any longer, and he determined that, when shearing was 
over, he would go down to the old place and see Petrel again. It 

Y 


PAVING THE WAY 


338 

might be that she had utterly torn him from her heart ; in any 
case she must be growing old, as women quickly do in hot climates ; 
perhaps she was a mother, and he smiled sardonically as he thought 
how the sight of that once perfectly-proportioned form grown stout 
and mis-shapen must disillusionise him. 

Should she, however, be still beautiful as ever and hold the 
same sway over him, he would sell out and leave the country, 
taking her with him, if she could be induced to go ; if not, he would 
go himself, never to return. 

Pondering all these things over in his mind as he rode along, 
he at last braced himself up to the stern resolve. 

‘ She will fly with me, or I will cast her image from me and 
return to ask Clara Ingleton to be my bride. Ten years of the 
best of my life are gone in vain repining and useless grief. Am 
I never to cease passionately craving for one woman until my 
manhood has slipped away ? ’ 

Somehow recently, until the last few days, he had thought less 
about his lost love, and had really been the happier for it. The 
hot exciting chase after the bushrangers had fired him as nothing 
had done for years, more especially the wild ride in pursuit of his 
mortal enemy. Perhaps, if Clara had not come across his path, 
he could have become absorbed in matters in which women had 
no concern. Confound the girl 1 He devoutly wished he had 
never seen her ; he certainly would not have entered the house 
had he known she was there. Half her sympathies seemed to go 
with the scoundrelly robbers, and he tried to feel very angry at 
her, but in spite of repeated protestations to himself that his re- 
venge on that undoubted villain was a just act, he now began to 
feel less satisfied with regard to it. 

‘ Why the devil could I not have left the dirty work to the police, 
as others do?’ he muttered. ‘But then there are few with such 
injuries to avenge. It was a case of self-preservation, for while 
that wretch was alive and at liberty, my life could not be con- 
sidered safe. So the sooner he meets his fate on the gallows the 
better.’ 

All the way home these reflections and others arising from his 
recent experiences engrossed his attention, but once back at the 
station he cast them aside and bent his energies to his accustomed 
work. 

There was much to be done in preparation for the shearing 
season, and, having decided to leave immediately afterwards, he 
was determined that no avoidable delay should occur in doing so. 

It was known on the station that his pursuit of Cowler had re- 
sulted in the capture of that desperado, but very few questions 
were asked of the ‘ boss,’ for, now Mr. Hazle had left, there was 
no one who felt equal to inviting his confidence. Besides, Jollyboy 
could supply all the information wanted, and that sable youth had, 
indeed, a rare time of it. Many were the sticks of tobacco be- 
stowed upon him for a full relation of his adventures, and he soon 


GHOSTS 


339 

learned to add a romantic interest to the tale by describing the 
deliverance of Miss Ingleton. 

‘ My word, that one balara white gin ! ’ he emphatically declared. 
‘Bale frightened long bushranger.’ 

As applicants for a ‘ stand ’ on the shearing-floor began to camp 
about, his audiences became more numerous and there was rarely 
an evening that he was not interviewed by eager listeners, anxious 
to hear every particular of the break-up of the notorious Thunder- 
bolt’s gang. And there were not a few among them whose sym- 
pathies were all with the unlucky rogues in their defiance of law 
and order. To them the squatter’s conduct in joining the police 
was just what might be expected from one of his class. ‘Why 

didn’t he leave the d d bobbies to do their own dirty work ? ’ 

was the usual comment. 

The day before shearing commenced, three men rode up to 
Grantley as he was giving some directions at the shed. One, a 
tall sparely-built man, stood a little aside until the others had 
spoken, and then asked if he could be taken on. His voice seemed 
familiar, and a rapid glance at once showed Roland that it was none 
other than Darkie, though bearded nearly to the waist and with 
the stamp of years of change and exposure upon him. There were 
the same furtive eyes, though with a bolder and more confident 
look in their roaming glance. Never at rest, they took in every 
detail while men in his company were absorbed in their pipes or 
any other trivial object. Now, they were alike watching his com- 
panions and each motion of Grantley, though the man himself 
stood nonchalantly by, as if nothing interested him. 

Thus met, after long years, the two who had parted so strangely. 
Each always secretly felt that the time would surely come, if they 
lived, however it might be deferred, yet to the younger man it 
came somewhat as a surprise. Of late he had thought less of his 
quondam companion of other days, and probably felt glad to put 
from him that episode in his early career in which they were both 
involved. As the years had rolled on, he learned to doubt the 
existence of the hidden treasure. Darkie was given to romancing, 
and, probably, had no real reason for the conclusion he arrived 
at ; anyhow not sufficient to induce him to risk returning to the 
colony, where a heavy reward was offered for his apprehension. 
After the lapse of so long a time there were a hundred chances 
against his re-appearance. Sickness, death, a home of his own 
with domestic ties, these and a host of other reasons might prevent 
the fugitive from ever troubling him again. 

So Grantley had half persuaded himself, that the past evil deed 
was buried too deep to be ever disinterred, yet here came the rude 
awakening from his dream of safety ; not that he contemplated 
any real danger to his life, if the man were recognised, or even 
volunteered to turn Queen’s evidence after so many years ; but 
there might be the opprobrium and the disgrace of a judicial 
inquiry and possibly even the exposure of a public trial. 


340 


PAVING THE WAY 


These reflections passed swiftly through his mind, but he gave 
no outward indication of alarm. With his usual calmness he 
took down the names of the first applicants, saying that places 
would be reserved for them. Then he mentioned that he re- 
quired a man to act as ‘ yarder up ’ and to drive sheep to and fro 
between the paddocks and the shearing-shed. A significant 
glance at Jonathan Quig (for that was the name given by the 
wanderer) made him at once apply for the position, and, after a 
few questions respecting his capabilities, to allay any suspicions 
on the part of the others, Grantley engaged him, thus in a great 
measure separating him from the shearers, and giving himself 
opportunities of intercourse with him, without exciting remark. 

Then they parted, and for some days Roland only saw his old 
companion for a few minutes at a time. On one of these occa- 
sions, when there was no one by, to see or hear, they agreed upon 
their line of action. Nothing was to be allowed to transpire to 
lead to the supposition that they had ever met before. They 
were never to refer to the past or speak of their future proceed- 
ings, except when away together on the run. The situation that 
Jonathan now filled would necessitate his employer’s being fre- 
quently with him, and even their camping out together at night. 
On such occasions their plans could be matured, without the 
possibility of any one knowing or suspecting aught. 

About a week later they were alone, and Quig began his tale 
of the long ride on the Star up the Coorong beach and the mid- 
night swim across the Murray mouth. 

‘I remembered every word of your directions,’ he said, ‘and 
they saved my life in that awful current.’ 

Then followed a minute and faithful narration of the few days’ 
concealment at the Bluff, and the subsequent attempt when the 
pursuit became hot to reach Kangaroo Island. In burning words, 
that stung the remorseful lover like scorpions, he described the 
devotion and heroism of the intrepid girl, and, as he dwelt upon 
the theme, a fierce jealousy blazed up in the breast of the listener, 
as he for the first time realised that this man too had dared to 
love her. 

Then he spoke in low, suppressed accents of the parting at the 
island, when he had accompanied her fairly out to sea — 

‘I knew,’ he said, ‘that all the time she was only thinking of 
you, and that she would have done as much for any other creature 
for your sake ; and yet you could submit to be separated from 
her,’ he added in an inquiring and reproachful tone. 

For a moment the two men gazed on each other, perhaps 
nearer a deadly quarrel than ever before during all their strange 
association. 

‘ Drop these reflections,’ sternly broke in Grantley, ‘ I suffer 
them from none. What you have heard from others I cannot 
tell, but from me ask nothing, since h has nought to do with our 
compact.’ 


GHOSTS 


341 


‘ So be it,’ assented the other, ‘ besides, it is too late now ; but, 
if aught that I could do, even to the laying down of my life, would 
serve her, God knows how willingly I would do it.’ 

Again the fierce spasm of jealousy shot through Grantley, but 
beyond an impatient gesture he made no sign that he had heard 
the remark. 

‘Do you half comprehend what she dared and did?’ continued 
the narrator, again carried away by his subject. ‘ She faced a 
gathering storm in an open boat, with a man she never liked or 
trusted ; she a young girl fair enough to tempt a saint to sin 
when alone and absolutely in his power, but the wretch who could 
have injured her, under such circumstances, must have been a 
fiend indeed, and yet there are such men ! ’ 

‘You well know,’ angrily retorted Roland, ‘ that, had you done 
her the slightest wrong, the world would not have been wide 
enough for the two of us to live in.’ 

‘ Yes I know it,’ sadly assented the other, ‘yet you have in some 
inexplicable way forsaken her. Roland Grantley, mine is a bad 
enough record to look back upon and those who have benefited 
me have reaped a poor return, but I would rather answer for all 
my long and evil catalogue of crime, if there be a judgment-day, 
than for your treatment of Petrel Cleeve. At your hand she has 
received the blackest ingratitude for services such as women have 
rarely rendered to men.’ 

‘ I know it, I have never ceased to remember it all these long 
years, and shall to my dying day, without any reminder from you. 
I have borne enough already, and, unless you seek a quarrel, let 
this pass and recur to the subject no more.’ 

The words were sternly spoken with a warning ring in them, 
and, as in the old days, the weaker spirit bent before the stronger 
will of the younger man. 

‘Quarrel with you,’ cried the wanderer with a laugh, ‘not 
likely, for all the women on the broad earth. No, since we 
parted I have seen many men under the varied conditions that 
most try the mettle of mortals, but none to equal you, and, but for 
what happened on the Tatiara, I should never have left you. 
That has parted us, and, when we have accomplished the pur- 
pose for which I have again sought you, we will each go his own 
way, never to meet again. But that treasure I must find.’ 

‘ What treasure ? ’ asked Grantley. ‘ When we parted, you 
hinted at a fortune hidden somewhere that might be yours, but I 
thought little of it, as you could gasconade then. You must be 
more definite now, if I am to help you.’ 

Then Darkie told his tale. How, with the hunting party of 
blacks, he had arrived just in time to save the Jew from being 
murdered outright, and had distinctly seen Talco snatch and 
carry away the small brass box which the mutterings of the dying 
Israelite had led him to believe contained written directions as to 
where the treasure was buried. How later he had induced the tribe 


342 


PAVING THE WAY 


he lived with to make war on the Coorong natives for the purpose 
of obtaining the box, but with such ill success that he deemed it 
wise for his own safety to escape to the Fishery at Encounter 
Bay. At first he hoped that, by offering part of the valuables to 
the whalers, they would assist him, but he soon saw that, even if 
he cared to trust them, they would not involve themselves with 
the Government by attacking the blacks, and he knew he could 
not obtain the precious locket in any other way, for Talco con- 
stantly wore it on his breast as an ornament. 

He dared not accompany Major Cuthbert’s party, because he 
feared the police would discover that he was an absconder from 
Van Diemen’s Land. The next chance that offered was to join 
one of the squatting expeditions going to the Tatiara to take up 
country ; and it was with this object that he attached himself to 
Grantley and volunteered to show him a good run. Once there, 
he knew they must come into collision with the fierce tribes of 
blacks ; and, to tell the truth, he was determined it should be so, 
to give him an opportunity of shooting Talco and thus gaining 
possession of the brass locket. Almost as soon as they reached 
the future station, he heard that this famous aboriginal was in the 
vicinity, still proudly wearing his trophy, but on no occasion could 
he see him. If he had done so, he meant to shoot him down 
without the slightest compunction. 

Then came the various conflicts with the whole tribe, and on 
the mere chance of one having the box on him or being the great 
Talco himself, he had turned over and examined each dead 
warrior, but without success. 

It was a hard struggle for him to fly and leave his hopes of 
wealth behind, but it was better than facing a trial, with the 
strong probability of being hanged ; for, as an escaped convict, 
he felt there was little hope for him unless he turned Queen’s 
evidence, which, for Roland’s sake, he would not do. 

‘ Now,’ said he, ‘ I want you to assist me in finding the fortune 
buried near the head of the Coorong. The first thing is to ob- 
tain the locket containing the clew ; that done, I believe the rest 
would be easy.’ 

‘ I will help you,’ replied Roland, ‘ but I see many difficulties 
which may prove insurmountable. These are largely increased 
by your having remained away so long. For instance, Talco is 
probably dead.’ 

‘ I have thought of that,’ answered the soi-disant Jonathan, 

‘ and, if so, we must discover where he is buried. You know that 
in the case of so noted a warrior all his cherished possessions are 
certain to be buried with him.’ 

‘ Then much trouble must be expected in inducing any of the 
survivors of the tribe, probably now very few, after ten years of 
our civilising tactics, to show where he lies,’ observed the squatter. 

‘ I anticipated that ; but it can be done by the aid of judicious 
management and other methods we need not particularise now,’ 


GHOSTS 


343 

replied Quig. ‘ I still remember some of their language, and that 
will help us.’ 

‘ There is the more serious fear that the box has been opened 
or worn out,’ said Roland reflectively. 

‘It may be so; but the Jew plainly muttered that the spring 
was strong, very strong. At any rate, we must hope for the best. 
Now, you know the facts, and, as you are cleverer than I am, I 
leave it to you to think out some plan by which we can spend the 
necessary time on the Coorong without exciting suspicion.’ 

‘That won’t be difficult,’ replied Grantley, ‘always supposing 
you have not learned to drink since we parted. If so, not one 
yard do I go.’ 

‘ Be easy on that score ; I am not one bit more of a drunkard 
than I was ten years ago, and, while on this business, not a drop 
shall pass my lips that you don’t approve.’ 

‘ That is settled then. Before the shearing is over, I will devise 
some scheme upon which to act.’ 

On subsequent occasions, when the old companions were out 
by themselves (for at the station Grantley carefully took no more 
notice of Jonathan Quig than of the other hands), the wanderer 
related the substance of his other adventures since they had 
parted. 


CHAPTER XIX 

DARKIE TELLS HIS STORY 

He had sailed with old Kark for the whaler, almost directly after 
he had returned from seeing Petrel away from the island. The 
captain gladly welcomed him, as soon as he heard he was a 
capable hand, merely remarking — 

‘It’s not my business to ask inconvenient questions; and so 
long as you act straight with me and do your duty you are an 
honest man and an American citizen.’ 

Two days later they cleared the land, and, falling in with whales, 
were so successful that the vessel was quickly filled up. The 
recruit, on whom the name of Jonah was bestowed, not only quite 
satisfied the master, but became a vast favourite with the crew. 
These amicable relations continued during the voyage to Boston, 
and on their arrival there, being offered increased wages by the 
captain, he accompanied him to Baffin’s Bay a few weeks later, as 
he felt that the life exactly suited his roving disposition. 

They experienced many vicissitudes in the Arctic regions, and 
did not return for two years, though ultimately the venture proved 
profitable to the owners, master, and crew. Jonah, however, had 
grown tired of the sea, principally, perhaps, because the excessive 


344 


PAVING THE WAY 


cold affected him. Moreover, he began to think it wiser to sever 
his connection with all those who knew whence he had come, and 
thus cover his trail preparatory to returning for the concealed 
treasure. He had solemnly promised Petrel never to go back 
until there could be no question of the safety of Roland Grantley, 
and that pledge he never contemplated breaking. Bearing this 
in mind, it was essential that he should leave no trace by which 
he could be followed. Consequently, he next made his way far 
up into the backwoods, and for a while engaged in hunting, some- 
times with the lawless whites, and later with the Indians. He 
even became a warrior, and was sufficiently initiated into their 
customs to be adopted as a member of the tribe. One object of 
this was that he might be tattooed, and so obliterate certain 
marks by which the English and Australian police could identify 
him, or indeed any one who read his description in the printed 
notice offering a reward for his apprehension. So effective was 
the process that it was now impossible to recognise him by the 
old signs alone. After leaving these people he entered the service 
of the Hudson Bay Company, and, as he was an expert hunter 
and trapper, he became a valued servant. Again the cold and 
exposure rendered the life distasteful, and he migrated to Mexico, 
and thence to South America, spending much of the time there on 
various ranches ; but he also appeared to have been at one time 
or another ‘soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor’ — in fact, a peripatetic 
Jack-of-all-trades. He thus combined business and pleasure by 
at once promoting his object in concealing his identity and gratify- 
ing his Bohemian instincts in this roving life. Further to cut 
the painter of the past, he frequently changed his name. 

At last a great longing to revisit his old haunts and search for 
the buried treasure came upon him, and, making his way to the 
coast, he set sail at Buenos Ayres for London. There he stayed 
but a few days, quite remote from the scenes of his exploits as a 
youngster, and finally took a passage to Brisbane. 

On arrival there, he immediately went up-country, and here he 
had one bitter experience that he could never forget, in which, 
though he escaped with his life, his companion perished. 

It was blazing hot weather, and they had some two hundred 
miles of an almost waterless waste to cross. Through this a 
telegraph line had been lately laid, as nearly in a straight line 
as possible. The road was much longer round by the supposed 
permanent waters, which had, in the protracted drought then 
raging, with two exceptions, quite failed, and these two were said 
to be close to the telegraph line. 

‘My companion, poor Dick Hard, had worked at putting up 
the wire, and told me he knew every inch of the way and the 
exact situation of the waters. We camped at the verge of the 
dry stage for a couple of days, and, as our horses were good 
and strong, we anticipated no difficulty in pushing through. The 
longest distance without a drink was only seventy miles, and 


DARKIE TELLS HIS STORY 


345 


what was that to a first-class horse ? So confident were we, that 
we started in the morning instead of in the evening, and the day 
turned out a snorter. We didn’t trouble about carrying any 
water either — ^just took a big drink and rode gaily on, making 
sure, like a pair of fools, that, though we might have a bit of 
parching, it wouldn’t do us any harm, as before night we would 
reach the Beefwood Tree. However, when it was about midday, 
we began to think a little more caution might have been advisable. 
The heat was something to shrink under, as mile after mile we 
plodded along that interminable row of tall poles. I tried to 
count them, twenty to a mile, till my head grew dizzy, and for the 
life of me I could not be sure whether I had counted the last post 
or not when I came to it. Then I tried shutting my eyes ; but it 

would not do — those d d high sticks would be taken notice 

of, and I was obliged, in spite of myself, to begin calculating how 
many we had to pass, at a score to the mile, before we arrived at 
the far side of the desert. We stopped for a little while during 
the hottest part of the day in the miserable shade of some dwarf 
bushes, but that didn’t do us much good. Dick said we could not 
be more than twenty-five miles from the well, and he did not 
think we were as far. Well, we started again, and it seemed 
hotter than ever, and my mate began to feel thirst badly ; you 
see, he was a man who had drunk hard, and none of them can 
stand going long without some kind of liquid. Then he got im- 
patient, and pushed his horse unmercifully. I don’t mean galloped 
him — that came later — but he made him go beyond a walk, often 
at a canter. I did not feel the want of a drink much then, and 
tried to keep him cool ; but he lost his temper, and said he knew 

more about dry country than a b fool of a Yankee, which 

rather riled me. Anyhow, we didn’t quite quarrel, for we kept 
pretty close together until nearly sundown. Suddenly he said 
we had passed the Beefwood Well ; he knew it by the small round 
hill in front of us. I did not think so, because most of the track 
was bad and rough with fallen timber, or rather sticks, preventing 
us making good headway. Another reason why I felt confident I 
was right, and that we had travelled slowly, was because I had 
now and then counted the telegraph poles. He wanted to turn 
back, and I wouldn’t; I said we had passed no big beefwood 
tree, such as he told me the well was called after. To this he 
replied that it must have blown down, or we had missed it some- 
how, and that I couldn’t be expected to see it when I had been 
asleep half the way. All along he had said this well was not a 
hundred yards from the line ; but now he thought it might be 
more, perhaps a quarter of a mile. 

‘ This frightened me, and I begged him to keep on, and, if we 
did not see it, to make for the other one, the Soakage, which was 
right on the line with an old hut by it, and so impossible to miss. 
But it was no use ; he said he wasn’t such a durned fool as to 
travel all that distance without a drink, if I was ; I had better go 


PAVING THE WA’i 


346 

on — he had wasted enough time arguing with me. With that he 
turned his horse’s head and rode back. I ’d half a mind to follow 
him, but he riled me above a bit by the way he had talked to me. 
Then I began to doubt if he knew where the well was ; and, even 
granting this, if the tree had been destroyed, he might not be able 
to find it. Then I called to mind what numbers of men had lost 
their lives by riding their horses about hunting for water, when, if 
they had kept straight on, all would have ended well. So I just 
determined to continue right on along the wire, keeping a sharp 
look-out for the big beefwood tree. Dick, by this time, was nearly 
out of sight ; but 1 thought he would soon come after me if he did 
not find the well. 

‘Anyhow, away I went, though my poor horse was very tired ; 
still, as it was getting cooler, he stepped out at a fair pace. Up 
to dark I kept a sharp look-out for that big tree, but devil a one 
could I see, beefwood or any other wood. It seemed now to be 
the right thing to camp awhile, in hopes that Dick would have the 
sense to follow me. Quite an hour passed without any sign of 
him, and then, as the horse was fidgety and appeared likely to 
break away, I made another start. I had now much ado to pre- 
vent myself going back to my mate, for it seemed as if he must 
have found water, seeing that he had not overtaken me. Luckily 
for me, I had sense enough to stick to my resolution and go on. 
My game old nag, too, never hesitated ; he went off the moment 
I mounted him, straight along the line. All night we kept going, 
often very slowly ; but towards daylight it got quite chilly, when 
the horse plucked up a bit. 

‘ When it was daylight again, there ahead of me stretched the 
row of poles as if there were no end to them. Across small stony 
ridges and little plains with diminutive trees and stunted bushes, 
but nothing to give shade enough to shelter a kangaroo. Dry, 
everywhere dry, except for the tantalising mirage, which, as the 
sun mounted higher, displayed lakes and pools to the right and 
left. I have often wondered if horses see that accursed illusion. 
If so, they show more sense than their riders, for they pay no 
regard to it. Old Cast-iron, as I named my nag, passed on 
without a glance at the bright, clear waters, on which the rays of 
the sun seemed to play so vividly that I could scarcely resist the 
impulse to turn him from the track and rush madly into them. 

‘A fiercer heat, if possible, than that of the previous day set in, 
and slower and yet slower crawled on the wearied brute. I was 
now suffering torments from thirst, but to spare him I walked 
sometimes. There was hope, too, in front, for far away in the dis- 
tance rose a high hill — so at least it appeared from the dead-level 
country — and under that was the Soakage, if any faith could be 
placed in the description given of its whereabouts, not only by 
Dick but by others as well. There ought to be a trig on top ; and, 
oh ! how long and eagerly I looked for that pile of stones ! Mile 
after mile passed, and still I could see nothing but a smoky mist 


DARKIE TELLS HIS STORY 


347 


enshrouding its crest. Then, in despair, I would vow not to look 
again till ten telegraph poles were passed ; but mortal endurance 
would not bear the strain, and not three were left behind before 
my gaze sought the hill-top once more. Yes ! no ! yes ! I could 
have shouted for joy ! only that my swollen tongue and parched 
throat refused to utter a sound. There rose the pile with the staff 
in the centre. I remember little more until I stood by a shallow 
well in the side of a rocky creek. Cast-iron was there, too, occa- 
sionally sucking up the clear, cool water. I knew that I had 
drunk, for my head was wet from being dipped in the well ; but 
my thirst appeared just as consuming as ever, and I drank and 
drank again. No doubt a heavy sleep followed, for when I awoke 
night had evidently long set in. The horse was near, feeding 
quietly on the dry grass in the bed of the channel. I simply took 
off his saddle and bridle, got a bit of damper out of the swag, ate 
it, and went off to sleep again. Maybe it will be said. Why didn’t 
you go back and help your mate ? What ! me face that awful 
road again, when I had only just escaped by the skin of my teeth ! 
I ’m not such a born idiot as that, and it ’s no use expecting to find 
a hero in a man of my stamp. Besides, how did I know that the 
d d fool had not found the well and was laughing at me ? 

‘No, I waited for him to come up; and, when evening of the 
next day fell, a couple of line-repairers from the telegraph station 
thirty miles further on came by, and told me the wire was inter- 
rupted back the way I had come. Then I told them of Dick, and 
where I had parted from him. 

‘ “ Why, the Beefwood was blown down months ago ! ” said one ; 
“ and the well is in a hollow, where it can’t be seen from the line ! ” 

‘ Then I began to think it was a bad look-out for my poor pal, 
especially as I heard one say to the other that it was very likely 
another case of breaking the wire. 

‘ Anyhow, they offered to find me a horse if I would go with 
them, leaving Cast-iron at the Soakage ; and, as a spell was the 
best thing for him, I consented. They had got plenty of good 
things to eat, and a camel to carry them and the water ; so away 
we went at a good pace till about midnight, when we camped. At 
daylight we started again, and in the afternoon reached the Beef- 
wood Tree Well, not half a mile on from where obstinate Dick 
turned back ; but, as the tree had fallen, there was nothing in par- 
ticular to mark the place for a stranger. Of course, I ought to 
have known that there was something out of the ordinary look of 
things about the confounded spot ; and I can’t make it out now 
how I never noticed that old tracks turned off from the telegraph 
line, and that there was scarcely any path alongside it for a bit. 
But it was that stupid fool Dick’s fault ; why didn’t he come on 
with me? Then he’d have seen what it all meant, as he’d been 
there before. 

‘ Well, we gave our horses a drink and pushed on, and we hadn’t 
gone above five miles before we saw what was the matter. There 


PAVING THE WAY 


348 

ahead on one side of the line lay the carcass of a horse ; it was 
easy to see he was dead by the stiff, extended legs. A telegraph 
pole, too, lay flat, and near it something that he who has once seen 
it does not forget in a hurry — a naked dead body, already swollen 
to three times its natural size, and baking, blistering, and festering 
under the fierce heat of that terrific sun. 

‘ “ I thought so,” said the boss repairer ; “the poor devil has burned 
down a pole and cut the wire to bring assistance, but he must have 
felt pretty sure it would come too late to save him.” 

‘ This is what had happened, for we followed up his tracks to 
see. After leaving me, he hunted about out from the line for the 
well till dark, then camped till daylight and began again. He 
rode back by the side of the telegraph for many miles, and then 
had lost his head and galloped in all directions until his horse 
knocked up. By this time he was nearly where he started from, 
and here he bled the poor nag to drink his blood — the pannikin 
showed that. Then he tried climbing a telegraph-pole to get at 
the wire — we could tell that by the marks on the one next that 
burnt down ; but he had not been able to break or detach the wire, 
probably could not even reach it. Failing in this, he made a fire 
round another pole, a thinner one ; but it must have taken hours to 
get it down, each minute increasing his weakness and adding to 
his tortures. Only think of the sufferings of that thirst-stricken, 
tormented wretch, watching impatiently the slow action of the fire. 
Why, his agony in approaching the heat to pile on more fuel must 
have been awful ; and it was all unavailing, too ! 

‘ At last the pole fell, or rather leaned over, and he had still 
strength left to drag its butt out from the line to allow the top to 
fall lower. It was still almost beyond his reach, but, with infinite 
labour to one suffering so much, he with two stones bruised and 
battered the tough wire apart. Did he then know how long it 
would be before help could reach him ? Who shall say ? Under 
a miserable bush he had obviously lain long, and then thrown off 
most of his clothes — the strange course that poor wretches perishing 
in this way so frequently and unaccountably adopt in their frenzy. 

‘ Again he had wandered about, with short and faltering steps, 
sometimes actually crawling on his hands and knees, now beneath 
one shrub to seek its shade and then beneath another, but never 
far from the burnt post and broken wire, as if conscious that his 
sole hope now of rescue lay there. At last came the final awful, 
helpless agony that seizes the miserable dying creature, whether 
brute or human being, that yields up life alone on the drought- 
stricken, insect-covered plains of the Australian interior. 

‘ “ Oh, God of all created things, is it possible to reconcile the 
divine attributes of mercy, justice, and omnipotence Thy wor- 
shippers ascribe to Thee, with the unspeakable tortures that some 
of Thy creatures endure before they die ?” 

‘ I did not say those words exactly, but I felt like it, as I saw 
how he had struggled and torn and kicked up the hard ground 


DARKIE TELLS HIS STORY 


349 


under the torment of those horrid ants and things in his eyes, 
nostrils, and mouth. Poor Dick ! he paid a dreadful penalty for 
his obstinacy ; he’d be alive now, if he could only have believed 
that another man might know as much as he did. 

‘While the line-repairers did their work I managed to scoop 
out a shallow grave — and very shallow it was, for the soil had dried 
so precious hard that it would have taken a day to get it down 

any depth. Then it felt that hot, a man could not put 

on a spurt for even the shortest time. The wire, too, was soon 
spliced, and we did not stay to get a new pole, but stuck up the 
old one again. Why, there wasn’t a tree within twenty-four hours’ 
journey high enough to replace that stick, so what’s the use of 
saying we ought to have done the thing properly ? 

‘ Was it likely, then, that we were going to stop merely to plant 
a dead body a few feet deeper ? Besides, we didn’t think it a nice 
thing staying after dark with that lying there, and the man who 
says he wouldn’t mind is a gasser ! So we finished at dusk 
and made tracks back to the well, camped there a few hours, 
and were off once more. You see, the horses were fat as whales, 
and knew they were heading for home. 

‘ The next day we arrived at the Soakage, where I found old 
Cast-iron all right and fit to go on. At the telegraph station 
they gave me a job that lasted a goodish bit, and, but for the 
great object that brought me back to the country, I should have 
stayed longer. That is, so long as they didn’t want me to go 
back to the burnt telegraph-pole, where the dead man lies with a 
few inches of gravel over him. Of course, they would go when the 
line became interrupted again, for they are fine fellows, who do 
their duty at all hazards and in all weathers ; but you bet they 
won’t go there by night — not the men, anyhow, who, like me, saw 
that face with its look of hopeless agony and horror. Do I sup- 
pose he walks? Yes, I ’m sure of it, and if I went by there after 
dark I ’d see him safe enough.’ 


CHAPTER XX 

THE PRIZE IS WON AT LAST 

When the shearing season began in Queensland, Jonathan Quig 
left the telegraph station determined to work his way to the 
Darling, and then down that river and the Murray gradually into 
the Tatiara. This he did, passing from shed to shed ; and it was 
while shearing on a station near Bourke that he heard that a Mr. 
Grantley, evidently the man he most desired to meet, was the 
owner of Moolahalla. He, however, sought employment, as the 


356 


PAVING THE WAY 


nomadic clipper of fleeces does, from the various squatters on 
the track he had chosen, and threw no chance away of making a 
few pounds, until he presented himself before his old companion. 

‘As might have been expected, you knew me,’ he said as he 
concluded ; ‘ but I don’t think any other man in Australia would.’ 

‘Not one, I believe,’ added Roland ; ‘ I only did by your voice, 
and somehow even that has not appeared familiar to me since. 
You have acquired the Yankee twang, which is a disguise in 
itself.’ 

There was indeed little reason to fear that the most suspicious 
would recognise the returned wanderer. His face had aged and 
furrowed, two or three front teeth were gone, and the formerly 
bare chin was covered with a thick greyish beard, while the whole 
carriage of the man had altered, the tall, upright form having now 
a decided stoop. He also wore his hair long, as did many of the 
class he affected to belong to. 

Though Grantley thought it extremely improbable that anything 
would be suspected, much less discovered, he could not but 
exhibit some anxiety as to the ultimate result of their quest in the 
district where both of them were once so well known. 

He intended, however, that Jonathan should never go further 
than the Elbow, or Goolwa, as the future city on that historic spot 
was now named, and only there for a very short time. 

Though fully determined to neglect no measures to ensure 
safety, it often struck him that any special precautions were 
superfluous, so greatly had the rover changed, particularly when 
talking with others. Then he seemed to entirely lose his old 
manner and adopt the bush form of speech and slang, as he 
did when absorbed in the recital of his tragic experience on the 
telegraph line. When with the class of men he had lived and 
associated with for so many years, he became one of them, and 
none could detect the cultured and even courtly manner that once 
was natural to him. He was conscious of the change himself, and 
once said to Grantley — 

‘It’s safest to drop manners which are too fine for one’s station 
in life, and I ’ve made no effort to keep mine. Perhaps, if I come 
into my expectations, with fashionable tailor-made clothes on, I 
may again pay proper attention to my language and pronuncia- 
tion.’ 

The shearing progressed well, and in another fortnight there 
was every prospect of the finishing day arriving. No long, exas- 
perating delays had occurred, and all hands were in high spirits 
as the receipt of big cheques became a near certainty. 

At this stage the mail arrived late one night, when the squatter 
was sitting alone posting up his books. Among other letters was 
one from Miss Grantley; he could not mistake the bold, free 
hand. Putting it on one side, he completed the task of going 
through and disposing of the others in due order. Then he broke 
the seal and read as follows — 


THE PRIZE IS WON AT LAST 


351 


‘ My dearest Nephew, — At last my proudest anticipations are 
realised, and I can greet you as Sir Roland Grantley of Grantley Hall, the 
successive deaths of Sir Archibald and of your cousins having left you the 
sole male representative of our ancient family. 

‘You may think this unfeeling to the dead, but for years my brother 
was a great sufferer, and death must have come to him as a relief. 
In the best interests of our race, moreover, it is well that such disreputable 
members of it as your cousins — the twins— should have given place to you, 
and thus allowed title and estates to go together. Then, again, I never 
professed any peculiar affection for my brother ; indeed, he neither desired 
nor deserved it. 

‘ As I long since told you, I knew that he had made his will in your 
favour, but the details he did not divulge to me. The last mail, however, 
not only brought the intelligence of his death, but a copy of his will, in 
which he declares you heir to the whole of the Grantley estates — which 
are simply charged with a life-interest of ;^30OO a year for his daughter. 
She is further provided for by a settlement of ^^20,000 invested in consols, 
and a small detached landed property. He expresses his earnest desire 
that you will marry her and live in the old mansion. She is now only 
twenty-six, and one of the most beautiful girls in England. She has 
proved herself a most devoted daughter by rejecting many advantageous 
offers for her hand and attending on her father all these years with an 
affection that stamps her as a woman possessed of the highest qualities. 

‘ No doubt the lawyers will advise you in full of all details of the will, 
and of the steps necessary for you to take. We all expect to see you 
shortly, and meanwhile heartily congratulate you on your good fortune. — 
Your affectionate aunt, Arabella Grantley. 

* P.S . — I hear that Sir Archibald was never the same man after the 
death of his son. It was indeed a dreadful blow to so ambitious a man. 

‘ I am making all arrangements to leave for England soon after I have 
seen you. Poor dear Elinor has written me to come and live with her, 
and this is a duty I owe both to my brother’s memory and to her. 

‘A. G.’ 


Among the numerous circulars and newspapers which find their 
way to large stations was a formidable envelope, which had 
escaped his notice. It proved to be advices from his lawyers in 
Adelaide, communicating the fact of his good fortune, together 
with details of the will, and asking for his instructions in writing, 
unless he intended to visit the capital soon, which they thought 
would be best in his own interests. 

There could be no doubt that the inheritance, for which he had 
abandoned his love and sacrificed his happiness, was his at last 
absolutely without conditions. Certainly there was the desire 
expressed in the latest codicil, dated only the day before the tes- 
tator’s death, that he should marry his cousin ; but legally he was 
free to take to wife whom he pleased. Would the dying man have 
been so generous if he had known that the match he had evidently 
set his heart upon was impossible ? That no one could tell, but 
Roland doubted it in his present mood, when his thoughts were 


352 PAVING THE WAY 

dwelling more on what the great prize had cost him than on its 
actual worth. 

‘ But for it Petrel would have been mine/ he repeated again and 
again, and the words appeared to be echoed by all the mysterious 
sounds of the night. 

Unable to endure his own reflections in inactivity, he went out 
and paced about for hours, as he often did. Worn out at last, he 
returned to his room, and, opening a small drawer, took from a 
receptacle within a portrait. It was the one Petrel had given 
him. 

‘ By heaven,’ he muttered, ‘ if she is only half as beautiful now, 
I will instal her yet in Grantley Hall. What care I for the pre- 
judiced schemes and wishes of the dead man ? 

‘ If she will only consent, we will bury the past and live for each 
other still. The scheming woman who intrigued to plant me 
there at the price of love, honour, and happiness may yet find her 
success coupled with a condition that will blast her triumph — the 
presence of the woman she has so wronged as mistress of the Hall. 
Nor, my good aunt, will your selfish plots succeed as you expect, 
for I am well aware that you have studied your own interests as 
much as mine. You believed that by placing me under so vast an 
obligation, through inducing Sir Archibald to make me his heir, I 
must receive you as an honoured member of my household ; and 
doubtless it would be so if I married your niece. Do I not know 
you well enough to be assured that, given the opportunity, you 
will so work upon the ties of relationship with her as to secure 
your object and establish your footing? I should be a fool to 
question it ; you are too clever to fail. But, my dear aunt, how if 
Petrel occupies the post of chatelaine of our ancestral halls ? 
Then I shall have defeated your machinations and half-avenged 
all that you have caused me to suffer by your damnable wiles. It 
would be indeed a triumph ; but will Petrel consent ? ’ 

From these cogitations it will be gathered that Roland Grantley 
had some designs yet, by which he hoped to checkmate the relative 
who had taken so deep an interest in his progress through life, and 
who, it must be admitted, had done much to advance his material 
welfare, as well as to frustrate his love. Having arrived at this 
charitalDle state of mind, he sank into a troubled sleep, from which 
the morning light roused him in no very fit condition, to all appear- 
ance, for the heavy duties of the day. But Grantley was one of 
those men who always rise to every emergency, and as the hours 
wore on he became more fit for work. 

None the less, he said to himself when, work over, he wended 
his way homeward — 

‘ One more day gone. Another fortnight at this rate, and I can 
start down to put the last chance to the test.’ 

* * * * * * 

It is all over at length. The last man has been paid his cheque, 
and more than half of them have already saddled their horses and 


THE PRIZE IS WON AT LAST- 


353 


departed in search of other sheds. Many, with the best intentions 
to avoid public-houses and save their hard-earned money, will 
succumb to the first temptation. Others will pass on, until some 
seductive being in petticoats besets their path, and then, in a 
delirious pursuit of what is to them probably the unattainable, 
their funds will quickly melt. A few simply mean to seek the 
nearest grog-shop and have a ‘glorious spree.’ They know them- 
selves too well to dream of postponing, much less permanently 
resisting, their inordinate craving for ardent spirits. It is a short 
ecstasy, but to its votaries life has none other so irresistible. 

Meanwhile, Grantley is talking to Jonathan Quig by the sheep- 
yard fence. 

‘You start to-morrow,’ he said, ‘and ride down as far as Went- 
worth. Sell your horse there and go on by steamer. It will be 
quicker and excite no suspicion, as riding all the way might. 
When near Wellington, land and buy a boat, or maybe you can 
obtain one at a river-port going down. You must say you intend 
to start fishing and shooting. Then make your way to Goolwa, 
say in four weeks from to-day, and a letter shall be at the post- 
office for you from me. It will instruct you to see my agent there, 
who will be on the look-out for a suitable boatman to accompany 
me on a shooting excursion up the lakes. When he has made the 
necessary arrangements, we will go on this wild-goose chase of 
yours ; and, if success is to be attained, we will attain it.’ 

‘ I don’t doubt it, or you either, in the least,’ replied Quig. ‘ I 
have only to join you as directed, which is easy enough ; and I see 
you mean business by the short time you have allowed before we 
meet again to begin the search.’ 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET 


‘ Yes, nephew, I am anxious to leave for England ; but there is 
much to be done first, and it is not likely that I shall get off for a 
month or six weeks, so that, if you are bent on this shooting ex- 
cursion, there will be ample time. It’s very extraordinary how 
fond you men are of spending your lives outside comfortable 
houses in your own sweet society. One would think that after all 
these years in the wilds of Australia you would be glad to repose 
among your own people.’ ^ ^ * , , . , 

‘ I have had nearly a fortnight m the gay city of Adelaide, aunt, 
and must seek a little real relaxation away from business. Besides, 
you will make better progress with your preparations for departure 
without me.’ 

Z 


PAVING THE WAY 


354 

Aunt Arabella was in a decidedly bad humour. She had made 
sure that Roland would return clothed and in his right mind. 
Delighted at coming into a title, a splendid income, and a magni- 
ficent unencumbered estate, he would be full of gratitude to herself 
as the founder of his brilliant fortunes. Instead of this, he was 
coldly reticent, making no pretence of being guided by, or even of 
consulting, her wishes. When asked if he purposed accompanying 
her to England, he had replied, ‘ No ; he had not yet decided as 
to his future movements,’ and all her further inquiries elicited 
nothing more satisfactory. 

‘ What did he intend doing with the Hall, pending his arrival ? 
Should it be renovated to be ready for his reception.?’ she 
asked. 

‘At present nothing would be done ; he meant to leave it in 
the charge of a caretaker, the late baronet’s housekeeper,’ he 
answered. 

After this eminently unsuccessful attempt to extract information, 
the old lady desisted, until a more convenient season, from all 
endeavours to discover his plans ; but she lost no opportunity of 
extolling the virtues and accomplishments of the young lady who 
was waiting to be wooed on the other side of the ocean. 

‘You can go first, aunt,’ he said with a smile, ‘and report if a 
poor devil of a rough bushman has a chance with such a pearl 
beyond price. I really don’t feel that with my feeble merits I 
ought to aspire to the paragon you represent my fair cousin to be.’ 

Miss Grantley was not to be put off by this miserable affectation 
of humility. 

‘ Sir Roland Grantley may aspire^ she said, with a strong em- 
phasis on the word, ‘ to any lady in England.’ 

‘ I am sure he looks handsome enough,’ cried another voice, as 
Mrs. Enfield clasped him in her sisterly embrace, while her lord 
could be heard outside bringing on the young olive branches. 

The fair Maria had grown matronly, as the proud mother of five 
had a right to do, but otherwise there was little change in her ; a 
few lines could be found by looking for them, but they did not 
detract from the charm of the comely, pleasant face. Enfield had 
aged, but it was obvious that time with him also had not dealt 
unkindly. Floss Gifford was away at the Tatiara station, but ex- 
pected back in a week or two, so that there would be a general 
gathering of old friends. Presently the two men paired off to- 
gether, and then Roland heard that nothing had ever been 
discovered to throw any light on the fate of Joan. Sergeant Wash 
had been transferred years ago to another district, but left still 
believing that Floss was the murderer, and that, if he were allowed 
to have his way, the mystery would be quickly solved. 

‘ Obviously a man of one idea,’ observed Grantley. 

Then he led the conversation in other directions, and learned 
that Petrel was well, and still living with her husband. Auntie had 
died eighteen months since, somewhat suddenly, to the great grief 


THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET 


355 

of her niece. Since then Turnstile had given way more than ever 
to drink, and was, apparently, becoming a confirmed toper. 

There were great changes in the district. The Bluff was now 
‘Rosetta Head;’ the Point, ‘Victor Harbour;’ the Nob, ‘Port 
Elliott ; ’ the Elbow, ‘ Goolwa ; ’ and many more old names had 
been wiped out and others substituted. The whale-fishery was 
given up, the animals having almost entirely disappeared. Farm- 
ing had taken the place of grazing, and this had necessitated the 
demolition of the indigenous trees to an immense extent, and the 
wanton destruction of many more had still further altered the 
aspect of the country. Thus opened up to the cold and biting 
southerly and westerly gales, the district was rapidly becoming 
denuded of its magnificent forest-timber and shorn of half its 
beauty. 

‘ Still, I ’ve made my home here, and do not think of moving,’ 
said Enfield. ‘ Maria, too, clings to the hope that we shall yet 
know what has become of poor Joan, and so does Floss. He and 
she are the only people who talk about it now, and, whenever he 
comes up from the Tatiara, they discuss it over and over again. 
He declares that nothing shall induce him to leave the country 
until the truth is known.’ 

‘ Poor fellow,’ mused Roland, ‘ I am not sure that his burden is 
not the hardest to bear.’ 

Three days later, Grantley met Jonathan Quig at Goolwa, and 
started for the Coorong. Their boat was sufficiently large to carry 
a small tent and enough provisions to keep them for a fortnight, in 
addition to their fire-arms and various other means of propitiating 
the blacks. Among the rest was a supply of that potent agent of 
the white man in his intercourse with all uncivilised people, ardent 
spirits. 

Jonathan had met very few blacks since arriving on the lakes, 
and was careful not to make many inquiries ; but there had been 
heavy mortality in the Coorong tribes, as indeed in all others 
brought into contact with the Europeans. The remnant of the 
tribe to which Talco more particularly belonged were supposed to 
be located near the head of the lake on the ocean side. They 
therefore resolved to continue on without stopping to land on 
either shore, unless they came across signs of the people they 
sought. It was not unlikely they would see their encampments, 
or their own fire or boat might attract the notice of the blacks. 
In the latter respect they were fortunate, for on the second evening, 
when they drew to the land to camp, they were met by an old man 
and his lubra, and found they had their wurley close by. 

Just sufficient was given them to whet their appetites for more, 
and, when the travellers had pitched their tent, the aged couple 
were evidently delighted to have neighbours possessed of so much 
that their souls coveted. On some pretext Grantley took the man 
aside, and began questioning him about the tribe. He named 
several of the men he had known before mentioning Talco. At 


PAVING THE WAV 


356 

that name, however, there was a quick change in the face of his 
sable listener, and then he burst into a wail for the dead, and 
Roland knew that, if the precious relic was to be recovered, it 
must be sought in the grave of the chief. He tried to elicit more 
information, but was compelled to desist for the time, as the old 
fellow showed all the repugnance of the Australian native to speak 
of the departed. Later he made himself known to the woman, to 
her intense delight. He had seen her on several occasions when 
travelling to and from the Tatiara, and she remembered him at 
once on hearing his name. After some desultory remarks, he 
asked her about different members of the tribe, and she, first 
looking to see that her lord was too far off to hear, frankly 
answered his questions, even acknowledging that Talco wore the 
brass box and became the chief man of his people. He had not 
been long dead ; the last cold killed him, just before the warm 
weather set in, and he died with the token of his power hanging 
above his heart, for he would not allow it to be taken from him 
for a moment. 

‘What became of it? Did another black fellow obtain it?' 
asked Roland. 

‘ No,’ she said sadly, ‘black men not like that ; bury all about 
things belonging to that one, catchem when him jump up.’ 

But, when asked where the grave was, she only pointed towards 
the head of the lake. In vain were further questions, and at 
length, not wishing to appear too anxious, Roland ceased to urge 
her. Then the old pair w'ere regaled with luxuries such as their 
uncultivated appetites had probably never before tasted. The 
following morning attempts were again made to extract more 
precise information respecting the situation of the defunct war- 
rior’s grave, but the old couple were adamant. Grantley, in an 
endeavour to make the man communicative, spoke in an un- 
reserved manner of his own shipwreck and landing on the coast, 
and the death of the other whites, finally inquiring where they 
were buried, as if his mission was to seek for their remains. But 
it was utterly without effect ; the ancient savage was too deeply 
impregnated with the superstition of his race to give the slightest 
hint to the white destroyer where lay the sacred resting-place of 
his dead chief. 

Feeling that nothing more was to be obtained from the reticent 
pair, the searchers made sail for the opposite side of the water, 
shooting as they went, and at this encampment they fell in with a 
party of about a dozen natives. Rendered more cautious by their 
late failure, they only made general inquiries, but soon discovered 
that one of their number, who called himself Snowball— an evil- 
looking, one-eyed scoundrel, who boasted that he had been a long 
time with the whalers and was ‘ all same white fellow ’ — was the 
man for them. He no sooner found that they had spirits than he 
volunteered to accompany them anywhere, saying he would show 
them the best places to get good shooting and fishing. 


THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET 


357 


Grantley now became exceedingly apprehensive that the keen- 
sighted aborigines would recognise Jonathan, and insisted upon 
his keeping in the background. To ensure greater freedom from 
risk, they started at once with their new ally for the extreme end 
of the lake. After excellent sport during the day. Snowball, 
nothing loth, was at night primed to talk freely by repeated 
draughts of raw whisky. Without the least reserve he expatiated 
on his many murderous deeds, in which, if he were to be believed, 
both whites and blacks had suffered. 

‘ Yes, excepting himself, Talco was the best fighter of the tribe ; 
but he had a great medicine-box, which no man could open and 
which he never let any one touch, and it gave him great courage 
and strength. When he died, those who buried him knew, by 
the sound, that it was hollow, but it would not let them see 
inside.’ 

‘ Where did the tribe lay their dead chiefs, such as Talco ?’ 

‘ Among the bushes at the foot of the high sandhill they saw 
to-day with the smoke on it, near their landing-place. Talco was 
the last buried there, and they sometimes still went to the grave 
to do honour to the great warrior — as they will to me when I 
crack-a~back.^ 

‘ Doubtless they will, for Snowball is a man,’ assented the 
listener, ‘ and they will put white stones round and shells over it, 
as is fitting for the grave of a chief.’ 

‘Yes, like they have about the grave of Talco,’ said the boaster. 

‘ Show the place? No, I am not fool enough to show a 

black man’s grave to any white fellow.’ 

To repeat this again and again, until sleep overtook him, was 
all that Snowball could or would do. Long he slept, and awoke at 
last apparently oblivious of the entire conversation, but sullen 
and evidently suffering from the effects of the spirits. He now 
wished to rejoin his countrymen, and, as this exactly accorded 
with the views of Grantley and Jonathan, a start was soon made. 
On their way back they stopped for lunch at the spot Snowball 
had indicated as the burial-ground of the chiefs, and strolled up 
the sandhill, taking him with them, determined, if they felt any 
doubt as to which was Talco’s grave, to elicit the information 
from him somehow. Apparently by accident, they noticed the 
graves, and at a glance were convinced that the body of the man 
they had come so far to seek was laid there. It was scarcely 
possible there could be any mistake ; but Grantley motioned Ouig 
away, and in the language of the tribe quoted a few words of their 
lament, coupled with the name of the chief. This broke down 
the reserve of the savage, and in a burst of grief he poured forth 
the death-song of the hero whom in life he had hated and envied. 
Then they silently left the spot. 

That night they joined the blacks again, and did their best to 
create a favourable impression, praising Snowball as a splendid 
duck-hunter and guide, and giving them nearly all the game they 


PAVING THE WAY 


358 

had shot as well as other things. They were now desirous of 
shaking off their new friends without exciting suspicion, so that 
they might return to carry out their design of rifling the dead 
man’s tomb. This difficulty was solved for them by the natives 
expressing a desire to be conveyed in the boat across the lake to 
the opposite side. Early the following morning their wish was 
complied with ; and then the two adventurers felt their oppor- 
tunity had come at last, and under cover of night they sailed 
back to the edge of the water near the burying-ground, drew the 
boat on shore, and half-an-hour later, lantern in hand, stood 
by the side of the grave. 

‘ It ’s not a pleasant task as a whole,’ remarked Grantley, as he 
lighted the lamp ; ‘ first to make that poor devil drunk on purpose 
to pump and deceive him, and then to rob the defunct chief of the 
thing he prized more than anything else.’ 

‘ If it is indeed here, this will be the most agreeable job I have 
ever undertaken in my life,’ answered the other, ‘ except the one 
to come, I hope, of digging up the treasure. I wonder which 
is the head ; I don’t suppose these people have any prejudice in 
favour of the east or any other point of the compass.’ 

Carefully putting everything that marked the grave on one side, 
in the order in which they were to be rearranged, Jonathan pro- 
ceeded to remove the soil. It was but shallow, not more than two 
feet deep, and presently the opossum-skin rug and other wrappings 
round the body were disclosed. The odour was sickening, but he 
worked on, Roland standing a little way off on guard. Presently 
the former said — 

‘We must make a smoke ; I can’t stand this — it’s too awful.’ 

‘No,’ replied Grantley peremptorily ; ‘it would probably blaze 
up and attract the attention of the blacks ; this dim lantern is 
dangerous enough.’ 

‘ But we shall have finished and gone before they can come.’ 

‘ Ay ; but if we find what you are seeking for now, we may have 
to search for your fortune, which will require time. Besides, I am 
not sure they don’t suspect who you are already, and in revenge 
may begin talking or even give you up. No, those who rifle 
graves, for whatever purpose, must accept the unpleasant con- 
sequences of such ghastly work.’ 

‘I can’t lift out the body; it’s too horrible to touch,’ expostu- 
lated Jonathan, now almost unnerved. ‘ I wish we had never 
come.’ 

‘Rip open the coverings, then,’ said Grantley angrily, ‘ and be 
quick about it ; that will do just as well.’ 

When this was done, the decomposing face of Talco glared 
ferociously up at them. Though decay had proceeded far, there 
was no mistaking the fierce countenance, with the deep scar 
stretching obliquely across it. The broad breast was laid bare, 
but no brass ornament lay there, and a look of the profoundest 
dejection and disappointment chased the expression of horror and 




Is that the locket? asked Roland. 


p. 359 




THE MYSTERIOUS LOCKET 359 

disgust from the face of the searcher as he unfolded more of the 
corrupting form. Grantley here again interfered — 

‘It will most likely be with the weapons; they always put 
them by the side of the corpse. Part of a spear is showing 
there.’ 

‘Thank heaven for the hint! You think of everything, 
Grantley,’ exclaimed Jonathan, recovering himself, and again 
in eager quest. 

A number of native weapons were now disinterred, and with 
them a kangaroo-rat-skin pouch, wound round with some fur cord. 
It was torn open, and there lay the object of all their trouble 
and research— an oval brass box, about four or five inches in cir- 
curnference, artistically formed to represent a turtle clinging to a 
chain. Pouncing eagerly on it, Jonathan Quig strove to open it ; 
but if a spring ever existed, it was not to be found now. 

‘ Is that the locket ?’ asked Roland with apparent calmness. 

‘ I ’d swear to it anywhere,’ was the reply. 

‘And so would I,’ answered Grantley; ‘that is the strange 
article the Jew had on board the Mary that so excited and 
puzzled my boyish curiosity.’ 


CPIAPTER XXII 

THE Jew’s hoard 

Without another word the dead warrior was replaced in his 
grave, with all his panoply by his side, ready for the day when 
he should spring to life again in the black man’s abode of bliss, 
where no white devil shall ever enter in to share or disturb his 
sensual delights. The earth was filled in, and the stones and 
shells placed with all care round and over it, so that even the 
keen eye of the Australian savage might fail to discover the 
sacrilege that had been perpetrated. 

Then the two riflers of the tomb returned to their boat and 
sought for tools to force the secret from the mysterious locket. 
For an exasperating hour it defied all their efforts, but at last 
they were successful and it sprang open. Was it empty? No; 
in a recess behind a glass partition lay a piece of folded parch- 
ment, on which was written in a small but distinct hand — 

‘ Between the tall tree and the patch of sea, exactly as the two- 
rods-high broken limb points, five rods out and ten feet to the 
west.’ 

Jonathan’s countenance fell to absolute blankness. 

‘ The tall tree, the sea, and ever so many rods the Lord knows 
where ; how the devil are we to make anything of the utter vague- 


PAVING THE WAY 


360 

ness of that ? Why, round this coast there are millions of tall 
trees, and plenty of room between them and the sea to bury all 
the treasures on earth.’ 

‘But there are not many big trees,’ said Grantley quietly, 
‘ between the head of the Coorong and the sea. I know about 
where the Jew left us, if not the exact spot, and you know too, 
within a very little, where he had got to ; so the treasure, if such 
there be, must lie between those two points.’ 

‘I can take you,’ replied Jonathan, ‘to the exact spot where 
Talco stunned him.’ 

‘Then there is no reason to despair. Let us sail on at once 
to the top of the lake. That is now to be the scene of our opera- 
tions, and it is just as well to get away from here, in case the 
blacks find, after all our trouble, that the grave has been tampered 
with. I am sure it is an act they would resent.’ 

‘ And the only means of revenge left them is to appeal to the 
police, which would probably result in my being found out,’ 
observed Quig. 

‘Just so,’ answered Grantley — ‘a consummation awkward for 
us both.’ 

They were now merrily scudding along close to the shore, and, 
as daylight broke, had reached the extreme point of the lake, 
where they landed and made their camp in expectation of remain- 
ing for a few days. Quig was quite familiar with the locality, and 
pointed out several places where the tribe he lived with had 
camped on different occasions. After a short refreshing sleep 
and breakfast, they started off ; Jonathan leading to show where 
he met the Jew. Leaving the lake and keeping back from the 
sea, he soon came to a spot among some trees where he halted. 

‘That is the very gum,’ he said, ‘under which Jacobs was 
sitting when Talco set on him. There are the mouldering remains 
of the log — the rest has rotted away. You can see there are 
plenty of tall trees about here.’ 

‘ True,’ replied Roland, ‘but not patches of sea. To meet that 
description we must get closer in behind the sandhills. Then again 
the Jew would never have carried his heavy box so far from where 
the ship went on shore, though why he wandered on here I cannot 
think, unless he lost himself. We must go in near the coast sand- 
hammocks to look for the conditions specified in the parchment. 
It may be easier than it appears ; on the other hand, we may have 
a good deal of digging to do.’ 

‘Why couldn’t the fool have been more explicit?’ exclaimed 
Jonathan. 

‘ Possibly he did not consider that either wise or necessary,’ 
said Roland ; ‘ the description would be ample to refresh his own 
memory and enable him to identify the place.’ 

They now began a systematic search, as the squatter suggested. 
Tree after tree they went to and looked for the glimpse of ocean, 
but in vain : Quig even climbed several, in some cases getting in 


36i 


THE JEW’S HOARD 

this way a view of the sea, but in others not a trace. From one 
or two a mere streak could be seen, and from another at a con- 
siderable elevation ‘a patch.’ Here he was for digging, but 
Grantley scouted the idea. 

‘Why, the Jew could barely climb a steep ladder, man, much 
less that smooth trunk.’ 

With a dejected air the climber descended. 

‘You are quite right,’ he muttered ; ‘ I see I must depend upon 
you, if the treasure is ever to be found.’ 

After this they gradually worked their way back towards the 
head of the lake, and found three places worth digging at, if 
nothing more likely were discovered. Both somewhat tired, and 
Jonathan greatly discouraged, they returned to their camp to 
lunch. When that was over Grantley said — 

‘ We will now begin at the spot where the brig drove on shore, 
and examine the ground up to where we left off this morning.’ 

‘ I am going to leave it to your judgment entirely,’ replied the 
other. ‘ If you were not with me, I think I should give the matter 

up in disgust. It’s d d hard, too, after nearly poisoning myself 

digging up that stinking black fellow.’ 

‘ I have no doubt we shall succeed yet,’ replied Roland. 

‘ I wish you would let me try at some of the spots we saw 
this morning. Wouldn’t it be better than hunting about to no 
purpose ? ’ 

This was uttered in a half-querulous tone. 

‘ If you are very anxious,’ said Grantley, ‘ you can go and try ; 
but I am confident it will be labour lost, as none of the places 
fully answers the Jew’s description. In two there is no limb pro- 
jecting in the direction indicated, and in the other the sea cannot 
be seen without climbing, which he could not do.’ 

‘ But the bough he meant,’ argued Quig, ‘ might have been a 
small one and have since got broken off.’ 

‘Not at all likely,’ retorted the other. ‘He had some decided 
features to write like that about. It is most probable a much 
bigger tree than any we have yet found, and one from which the 
sea can be easily viewed.’ 

‘ But these confounded sandhills,’ urged Jonathan, ‘are perpetu- 
ally changing. In all these years the position may have completely 
altered and no sea be visible from his tree, even if it answers the 
description otherwise.’ 

‘ In which case we shall be compelled to dig five rods’ length, 
whatever that may mean, on the sea side of every tall tree we 
come across, which sounds a somewhat stupendous undertaking. 

‘Or give up the cursed wild-goose chase altogether,’ said 
Jonathan impatiently. 

‘ You are a cheerfully persistent treasure-hunter to be in com- 
pany with,’ laughed Roland. ‘Can’t you suggest a few more 
possible unfortunate contingencies — that the particular tree has 
been burnt down and utterly destroyed, for instance ? ’ 


PAVING THE WAY 


362 

‘ I never thought of that to-day, though it often occurred to me 
years ago,’ replied Quig. ‘ However, I expect that is what has 
happened, and it ’s all over with my fortune.’ 

‘Not a bit of it,’ said Grantley. ‘There will be some remains 
anyhow, you bet. Keep your pluck up — the game is not played 
out yet.’ 

By this time they were round the end of the Coorong opposite 
the place where the survivors of the Mary had landed, and, 
after going towards the sea some distance, they turned through 
the sandhills almost in the direction the Jew had taken. 

‘ I am going to put myself in his place,’ said Roland, ‘ and fancy 
I have a treasure to conceal, in such a manner that I may be able 
years later to find it.’ 

He walked on for about ten minutes, and then said — 

‘ That is the spot I should choose, not far from the big gum-tree 
there standing in the little flat immediately facing that patch 
of sea.’ 

‘ By Heaven ! the very place, as I am a chicken-hearted fool ! ’ 
shouted Jonathan. ‘ See, the very broken limb pointing straight 
to the sea. Hurrah ! ’ 

Grantley did not answer, but he was certain this was the spot 
described in the writing on the parchment in the box found by the 
side of the dead chief. He was thinking of the day years ago 
when he rode over this very spot and observed the patch of sea 
and the broken limb out of which the eagle-hawk had dragged 
the opossum, though he never dreamt then what was buried 
beneath. 

Jonathan had already stepped out ten paces and begun digging. 

‘You’ve found the hiding-place,’ he cried; ‘it’s only fair that 
I should do the work now.’ 

He dug fast and fruitlessly, each moment becoming more down- 
cast ; Anally he threw aside the spade with a bitter curse. Till 
then Grantley, occupied with his own thoughts, had scarcely 
noticed what he was doing. 

‘The writer of the directions mentions rods, but I don’t 
suppose he meant surveyoi-’s measurement, of which he probably 
knew little or nothing. He says, “Exactly as the two-rods-high 
broken limb points ” — and as the total height of the stem of the 
tree is not nearly thirty-three feet, it is evident he had something 
else in his mind. Probably he cut a wand for the purpose of 
measuring, and refers to that ; we can arrive at its length by taking 
the height of the trunk up to the broken bough. Twelve feet ; 
halve that and we find his rod was six feet long. Now measure 
five lengths of it, or thirty feet straight out towards the sea ; then 
ten feet at right angles towards the west. So— dig at that spot, 
and, if there be any truth in Jacobs’ memorandum and dying 
words, your long-wished-for treasure will be found.’ 

Grantley had scarcely finished speaking when Jonathan picked 
up the shovel and was hard at work again. Almost immediately 


THE JEW’S HOARD 363 

there was a sound of metal striking metal ; a few more dexterous 
movements of the implement, and an iron case about eighteen 
inches square was laid bare. The digger lifted it out of the hole, 
and, as it had become considerably corroded, he easily broke 
open the lid, which disclosed to his enraptured view a large 
number of gold and silver coins. For a few moments he gazed 
with greedy eyes at so much wealth, and then snatched up a small 
box from among the gold. The key was still in the lock : he 
turned it ; the cover flew open, and within lay several dozens of 
magnificent diamonds and other precious stones. 

Some smaller parcels were also found in the case containing 
jewellery of great value. There were also many articles of a 
miscellaneous character, giving the idea that they were intended 
to be broken up, but the Jew had been compelled to leave London 
too precipitately to allow of this being done. 

Roland watched his companion with some amusement, but took 
no part in unearthing the box or in its subsequent opening. He 
now spoke — 

‘Well, Jonathan, is it up to expectations, or beyond your wildest 
dreams ? ’ 

‘It’s good enough for the rest of my days, after dividing fairly 
with you,’ replied that worthy. 

‘ Not one coin or gem shall I touch,’ said Grantley. ‘ I am rich 
enough already, but, were I poor, I would take none of it.’ 

‘Why? Without your help it would probably have remained 
buried for ever.’ 

‘ Don’t ask,’ said Roland, ‘ but understand that I have no part 
or share in it. Pick it up, and let us go. My compact with you 
is completed, and I am anxious to be away.’ 

An hour later they were sailing rapidly down the Coorong before 
a strong breeze, and the following evening they approached 
Goolwa. 

‘The boat is mine,’ said Grantley ; ‘moor her at the upper end 
of the wharf, and my agent will attend to her. You have plenty 
of money without breaking into the old coins to last you to 
America ? If not, say so, and I will supply your requirements.’ 

‘I have abundance,’ replied Jonathan, ‘but am grateful for your 
offer. I now again pledge my word, which has never been broken 
to you at least, that no part of the find shall be touched until 
I stand in New York city. To-morrow morning I leave for 
Adelaide, and the ship in which my passage is taken sails two 
days later.’ 

As he spoke, the boat glided to the bank, and they both stepped 
on shore. 

‘ Then here we part,’ said Roland. 

‘ Nevermore to meet,’ replied the other ; ‘anyhow, in Australia. 
I love you too well, Grantley, to work you ill, if I can help it j and 
I know that my presence is a continual menace to you.’ 

‘We are better apart,’ was the reply. ‘You now have the 


PAVING THE WAY 


364 

means to make a home for yourself in the great Western land 
and live quietly and happily there. Farewell.’ 

Then they shook hands and parted. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

AFTER LONG YEARS 

Three hours later a tall form, wrapped in a long cloak, stood by 
the window of a cottage at Encounter Bay. There was a light 
burning in the room, and by it sat a woman sewing. Her figure is 
slight and graceful, and, as the face is lifted to listen to a sound 
outside, the watcher sees that it is the face of Petrel, thinner, 
sadder, but beautiful as ever. 

She rose and came to the window, and for a few seconds they 
looked into each other’s eyes — a world of horror and repulsion in 
hers ; then the form outside fled away. 

‘ I could not go without seeing her again,’ he muttered— ‘ the 
best, the only really good and noble woman I have ever known. 
But for her, I should be a worse man than I am.’ 

As for Petrel, pale and fainting, she sank back in terror and 
dismay, glancing round as if she feared she were not alone ; but 
there was no one to be seen. 

‘ His face ! ’ she whispered to herself. ‘ Can it mean any danger 
to Roland ? I must warn him.’ 

While in the village, during the evening, she had seen him ride 
through towards Talkie House. She would hasten there and 
trust to some happy chance to communicate with him. Hastily 
wrapping herself in a cloak, she hurried away, her one thought 
that the man she had so often protected again needed her help. 
To reach Talkie she had to pass one of their old trysting-places, 
and there stood the man she sought, buried in thought. 

* Petrel ! ’ he cried, when he caught sight of her ; ‘ fate, or 
chance, or whatever brought you here, is more than kind.’ 

‘ Oh, don’t say that, for I come to warn you of danger. I have 
to-night seen the man who always brought trouble to you.* 

‘ What, Darkie ? Are you not mistaken ? ’ 

‘ Oh, no ! He stood at the window, and I could not fail to recog- 
nise him. What does he want here ? Does he mean to betray 
you ? ’ 

‘ Petrel, can you not guess ? I am not the only man who can- 
not leave Australia after a ten years’ absence without looking on 
your face again.’ 

And then he told her of his meeting Darkie on the Darling, and 
their excursion up the Coorong. No doubt, when night fell, he 



A tall form, wrapped in a long cloak, stood by the window of a cottage 

at Encounter Bay. 






AFTER LONG YEARS 365 

had hastened from Goolwa to see for the last time the face of the 
woman he too loved. Petrel coloured. 

‘ I am sorry,’ she said ; ‘ I have been foolish, and must go home 
now.’ 

‘ Not without my warmest thanks,’ said Grantley. ‘ Once more 
I am indebted to you, when peril seemed near,’ and he took her 
hand. 

‘ I have much to say to you ; can you stay now ? or will you meet 
me to-morrow ? Oh, Petrel, give me an opportunity to urge my 
last request before I, too, leave this country for ever.’ 

‘ Let me go,’ she answered ; ‘ it is late, and I shall be missed.’ 

‘Not till you promise,’ he said firmly. ‘Trust me, Petrel, and 
come. I cannot and will not go without seeing and telling you all’ 

The words were so imploring that she could not but relent. 

‘ I will come,’ she said ; ‘ I will trust you.' 

He would have taken her in his arms, but she eluded him and 
fled. 

Elated, he turned homeward. 

‘ She loves me still,’ he thought, and the thought kept recurring 
even in his dreams that night, long after sleep had fallen upon his 
weary frame. ‘Would she have flown to my assistance the 
moment she believed my safety was imperilled, were it otherwise ? 
I will take her far away, and by a life’s devotion make amends for 
all the suffering which I have caused her.’ 

Was a new life indeed dawning for him ? or had he yet to learn 
that for some sins, though there may be repentance, there can be 
no atonement ? 

Early next morning Roland, rudely interrupted in the happiest 
dreams he had known for years, was racing at headlong speed up 
to the Creek. A messenger had rushed into his room at Talkie 
and thrust a note into his hand containing these words — 

‘Joan has been found. Come at once.’ 

There was no signature, but he knew Maria’s writing. Even in 
his astonishment and haste he did not lose hold of the all-engross- 
ing subject which lately filled his mind, and scribbled a few lines 
to Petrel, telling how he was called away and claiming her promise 
for another day. Leaving instructions for its despatch later in the 
day, he mounted the first horse available and rode off, thinking 
how rapidly events followed each other. But two nights had 
passed since the buried treasure was discovered, and now he was 
scarcely home when the mystery of his lost sister’s fate was solved. 
Found ! Yes — but how? Not alive — that could not be, after all 
these years 


366 


PAVING THE WAY 


CHAPTER XXIV 

THE BUSH REVEALS ITS SECRET 

Floss Gifford had arrived at the Creek from the Tatiara late on 
the night before Grantley returned from the Coorong, and next 
morning sauntered in to breakfast to find that meal nearly finished. 
Mrs. Enfield greeted him warmly. 

‘ I am sure Roily will be glad to find you here when he gets 
back from his shooting excursion,’ she cried. 

‘ Since when has he developed so keen a taste for sport of that 
kind ? I expected to find him quietly resting after roughing it for 
ten years in the wilds of the interior ! ’ 

‘ Well, to tell the truth,’ she replied, ‘ I believe it was more to 
try that grand new gun he has bought, than for any other reason, 
that he went off. He might just as well go as stay, though, for 
he is as restless as all you men are ; you never can remain in the 
house for a day at a time.’ 

‘ I feel that such a personal reproach,’ said he, ‘ that I won’t go 
outside the door until ’ 

* The next time,’ interrupted his hostess. 

‘Now you have rendered abortive a good resolution all but 
completed,’ returned Gilford ; ‘ and if I am found slighting the 
comforts of your hospitable roof, the sin will be on your own head.’ 

Floss took a book and settled himself comfortably by the fire. 
Steadily he read and smoked until the luncheon hour, and even 
after that break in the monotony of his idleness he made a show 
of devoting the rest of the day to literature ; but it wouldn’t do. 
Mrs. Enfield retired for an afternoon nap, and the interesting part 
of the story was finished. Then came a clatter of hoofs, and a mob 
of horses galloped into the stock-yard. The book was tossed on 
one side, and the squatter put on his hat and walked down to look 
at them. Enfield was there already. 

‘ How fat they are ! ’ said Floss as he drew near. ‘ I must have a 
ride on old Fire-eater — he seems so fit.’ 

‘ It will do him good,’ replied Enfield ; ‘ he has not had a saddle 
on him for a month. The brute gets away by himself up the 
swamp, and is the deuce to find when he is wanted.’ 

So It came to pass that Gifford went out for a ride from which 
great results followed. 

At first Fire-eater was sportively inclined, and the rider had to 
pay some attention to his seat ; but when he settled down to the 
sobriety proper to a horse of his age and education. Floss sank 
into melancholy musing upon the fate of the girl whose memory he 
still loved and cherished. Full of thoughts of her, he left the road, 
and, turning into the scrub, wound through its thickest mazes. 


THE BUSH REVEALS ITS SECRET 


367 

Out by the black swamp, farther and yet farther he went — scarcely 
noticing where. Suddenly his horse began floundering in soft mud, 
and then he awoke to the fact that the animal had made up 
his mind to cross over, and was already too far and too deeply 
immersed for it to be safe to attempt turning him round. There 
was nothing for it but to gain the other side. 

To do that required a hard and prolonged struggle, and, once 
there, Fire-eater had had far too much of it to dream of recrossing. 

We will go down this side, you old fool,’ said his rider. ‘ Though 
it is a long way round, better that than bog you.’ 

Turning along the edge of the swamp, he rode on, while his 
meditations once more recurred to the loss of his love and the 
subsequent search. He could not help wondering if it had failed 
by reason of some stupid oversight or blunder. Floss had always 
believed that, if Roland had been present at the first, when the 
country was not trodden over by the searchers, she would have 
been recovered. He possessed so much influence over the blacks 
that they would have done twice as much for him as for any one 
else. Then, again, Roland was unsurpassed in bushcraft, and 
would have guarded against any error, or waste of time, in beating 
the country. 

_ ‘ There must have been blundering, or nothing could have been 
hid from us,’ he muttered. ‘ Will the secret ever be revealed ? ’ 

The underwood here grew very thick, with much higher groves 
of scrub-eucalyptus growing close together. The swamp itself was 
covered with ti-tree and a lower growth of cane and flag, so thick 
that it was impervious to the rays of the sun, and almost to the 
light of day. As he rode along, Floss’s head was frequently high 
enough for him to see up the densely clothed slopes of the low 
hills that rose from the morass, though on foot he could have seen 
but a few yards, and often only a few feet, in front of him. 

F orcing his way through the tangled foliage, he came to a small 
open space nearly surrounded by the ti-tree, with a thick clump of 
gum scrub at the back. As he entered the clear spot, he noticed 
some bones lying near the edge of the swamp — the remains of a 
sheep dead years ago, no doubt, he said to himself. Then he 
noticed something white in the grove of bushes. Perhaps it was 
another dead sheep. Surely, however, there was something peculiar 
in the way those sticks stood, leaning towards each other among 
the gum-bush stems. Dismounting, he tied Fire-eater to a sapling 
and entered the thicket. Yes, it was undoubtedly an old wurley, 
and the object bleached to whiteness a bone. His heart sank 
within him. There, through the hanging twigs and leaves, a 
grinning skull confronted him — human without a doubt, for there 
were the two rows of teeth and the eyeless sockets set in the flat 
and bony framework of the human face. Startled, and nearly 
unmanned by a great dread, he tore the branches away, and before 
him lay the bones of some poor creature. 

The skeleton was not perfect — many of the bones were broken 


PAVING THE WAY 


368 

and others gone ; but still enough was left to show that man or 
woman had yielded up life in that lonely spot. Perhaps it had 
been carried there after death? No, the old camp was evidence 
that the last miserable shelter had been found beneath it. Well 
might he gaze again ! Those slender, fragile bones were never 
covered with the flesh and sinews of manhood — no ! nor of age 
either ; it was the youth and beauty of girlhood that had clothed 
them. 

‘ Joan Grantley ! ’ he gasped. ‘ My God, if it should be so ! ’ 

He dropped to his knees, covering his face in awe and grief. 
When he raised his eyes again, he saw a hollow round log about 
two feet long lying by the right-hand side of the skeleton, and in 
its cavity — what? Forgetting all else, he turned it up, and out 
dropped a book — Joan’s prayer-book, warped, yellow with exposure 
and age, but legible. It had been wonderfully preserved in the 
narrow receptacle into which the dying hand had thrust it. Open- 
ing it, in the fly-leaf he read the following lines : — 

‘ Darling Sister, — Floss left me at the gate, and I waited there to hear 
him ride off ; then I went to where he asked me to be his wife. I was so 
happy I wanted to see the place again. I couldn’t find it ; and then I saw 
the light at the house ; but the farther I walked towards it, the farther it 
seemed away. Then it disappeared altogether, and I knew I was lost. I 
ran on and on, calling and screaming until I burst a blood-vessel and 
could not even speak any more. I fell down, and then the dreadful 
wild dogs came howling about me, and I saw their horrible eyes glaring 
at me all round. I must have fainted, for I remembered nothing more 
till morning. Too weak to move, I thought some one would be sure to 
find me ; but when no one came, I tried to make a hut, as the blacks do, 
to keep the wild dogs from me. At dark a poor sheep came racing past, 
chased by them, and they caught and killed it quite near me. Oh, it 
was awful ! I thought they would tear me to pieces and kill me in the 
same way. I lay and watched them all night. 

To-day I heard dear Floss coo-ee, but I could not answer or move. 
Shall I ever be found ? — come soon, some one, or it will be — too — late. 
Oh, those fearful dogs, will they wait till — I — am — dead ? Roland would 
— have — found me. Oh, I surely cannot live to pass such another night. 
Good-bye — sister Is — this — death? Thank — God ! ’ 

There the pathetic memorial of the lost girl ended, and her lover 
bowed his head in his hands and wept in a passion of sorrow and 
remorse. They had indeed blundered, like the veriest novices in 
bushcraft. Why, if they had simply spread themselves a few feet 
apart, and gone round and round the station in an ever-widening 
circle, they must have found her. Yes, she was right. If Roland 
had been there at the first, she would certainly have been saved. 
His heart was full of self-reproach and bitterness as he thought of 
how he himself had failed her in the hour of her direst need. Not 
now did he think of his own name cleared from the foul suspicion 
that had rested upon it all these long years, but he knew he must 
go and tell others what he had seen. He took no thought of time. 



I ran on and on, calling and screaming until I burst a blood-vessel. 





THE BUSH REVEALS ITS SECRET 


• 369 

Darkness had long set in before he reached the Creek station gate. 
Throwing the rein over a post, he strode in a dazed manner to- 
wards the house. Enfield heard him ride up, and, wondering at 
his prolonged absence, he hastened to meet him, leaving Maria 
standing in the light from the open door on the verandah. 

* My God, Floss, what is the matter?’ he ejaculated, for he had 
caught a glimpse of the pale, working face. 

‘ Come with me,’ said the other, as he turned away from the 
sister waiting there, who intuitively knew, in some mysterious way, 
that something extraordinary had happened. ‘ I have found her, 
all that is left of her, by the Black Swamp. She tells her own tale, 
written in her prayer-book here. Take it and tell your wife ; I 
cannot, without dying of shame ; ’ and he staggered off. 

Enfield followed him. ‘ Floss,’ he said, and there was a stern, 
commanding ring in his voice, ‘ there must be no folly now ; you 
will be wanted, and I must know where to find you — it is due to 
yourself and to us.’ 

‘ I know,’ he replied ; ‘ I will be near when you call. Now go 
and tell her.’ 

There was indeed grief in the station household that night, 
and many were the tears shed by her sister over the last piteous 
farewell words of the dying girl, written as her life ebbed away. 

Enfield had heard that afternoon of Grantley having gone on 
from Goolwa to Talkie, and, when the first excitement was over, 
he immediately despatched a messenger to him on Fire-eater, 
much to that injured quadruped’s disgust. Nor was his sense of 
wrong the less, when Roland, no other horse being available at 
the moment, sprang on his back and rode him at headlong speed 
back to the Creek again. 

‘ Here’s a pretty fuss about a parcel of old bones !’ we may well 
suppose was the soliloquy of the panting steed as, at length freed 
from saddle and bridle, he walked dejectedly away. 

Two hours later Gifford led Roland and Enfield to the spot 
where the remains of the long missing girl lay. Casting a glance 
round, Grantley instantly recognised it as the very place to 
which he had followed the flight of the stooping eagle-hawk. 
There had, then, been something more to attract the voracious 
Australian scavenger than he supposed when he saw the carcass 
of the half-devoured sheep. Had he but looked more closely, 
what a world of wearing anxiety might have been spared ! Cer- 
tainly, however, he was too late to save the life which, her own 
words proved, must have mercifully fled many hours previously. 
None the less he reproached himself that the mere accident of a 
sheep having been killed on the same spot could have sufficed to mis- 
lead his bush-knowledge so completely. A child or a ‘ new chum’ 
could not have been more easily deceived or led astray. He was 
bitterly ashamed of the part he had played in the whole matter. 

It was inexplicable, too, that the blacks had proved so useless ; 
but, as a matter of fact, when the heavy rain that fell and the 

2 A 


370 


PAVING THE WAY 


flocks of sheep passing over the tracks rendered following them an 
im{)ossibility, their interest in the matter had ceased. T^®^ 
entire absence of any trace soon excited their superstition and 
fear of the malignant spirit ‘Muldarpie/ to whom they ever 
ascribed all mysterious evil. 

Gravely the three men stood by the old camp and meditated on 
the strangely pathetic ending of a being whom they all had loved. 
Silently they collected these poor weather-worn remains and covered 
up that mutely protesting featureless face. These having been put 
reverently aside, they carefully searched the ground where she had 
lain, and found the ring that her lover had put on her finger when she 
consented to be his wife, and a plain gold brooch she always wore. 

Mournfully they left the melancholy place and returned home, 
bearing the last relics of the lost sister and affianced bride. 
There never was a sadder cortege, as there never had been or 
could be a sadder end, in all the annals of Australia ; and these 
are deeply tinged by the tragic fate of numbers of her children. 

War, with its perils and its glories, has had little part in the 
making of Australia ; but, when that page of history comes to be 
written with true and impartial pen, it must record, in simple jus- 
tice to the pioneer band who first shaped her destiny, that they 
faced privation, danger, and death with a heroism and constancy 
never surpassed by those who had fallen in battle, sword in hand. 
Among them were not only strong and steadfast men to lead them 
on, but fragile, gently nurtured women to encourage and sustain 
them. All honour to the pioneers who dared and did so much, 
for never have so few done more in all the brilliant annals of 
British colonisation. 


CHAPTER XXV 

NEMESIS 

The discovery of the remains of the long-lost girl under such 
extraordinary and pathetic circumstances excited intense interest 
in the quiet neighbourhood. For far more than the proverbial nine 
days it was the one absorbing topic of conversation ; then it passed 
from men’s minds and women’s too, replaced by some newer and 
therefore more engrossing event. For a while it compelled Roland 
to abandon his designs with regard to Petrel. He felt that he 
would injure his chance of success by prematurely urging his pro- 
ject upon her after the unravelling of his sister’s tragic fate. 

Meantime, Aunt Arabella’s departure was at hand, her passage 
having already been taken. Perhaps it would be better that she 
should be beyond the possibility of interference before he moved 
in the matter ; for he well knew that, if she suspected anything of 
the design he entertained, she would strain every nerve to frustrate 


NEMESIS 


371 


it. Further letters had arrived from Elinor Grantley pressing her 
aunt to join her in her now lonely home, and the same commu- 
nication expressed a maidenly hope that her cousin, Sir Roland, 
was well, and that he might soon take possession of his estates. 

‘ I sincerely hope so,’ he observed when his aunt read out the 
message ; but nothing more would he divulge, and finally she was 
obliged to desist from her inquiries. 

Then came the hour for her departure, and, with a well-acted 
assumption of certainty that he would soon follow her to England, 
Miss Grantley, shedding copious tears, was driven rapidly away 
in Enfield’s buggy. 

Her dutiful nephew felt immensely relieved by her departure, 
and all now appeared favourable to his plans. He had privately 
received satisfactory offers for his stations, which he intended to 
accept. In any case he determined to leave the country for ever, 
with or without Petrel ; but of late he had begun to believe 
he should prevail upon her to accompany him. With the 
absence of his evil genius — for so he considered his aunt — hope 
grew almost into a certainty. He still put a stern restraint on him- 
self ; he did not act precipitately, and nearly a fortnight elapsed 
before he attempted to meet the woman on whom all his thoughts 
and hopes were centred. Night after night he had strolled out to 
visit the old places where they used to meet : past the deserted 
Fishery ; round the sea coast ; up to the summit of the Bluff, 
hoary with age and tempest-torn — all speaking to him of her, the 
one mate in the wide world for him. His passion seemed to feed 
upon each familiar object they two had known so intimately. It 
grew stronger and more absorbing day by day, till sleep forsook 
him and he rarely sought his bed before morning. At last, when 
he could bear the suspense no longer, they met one evening at the 
rock where he had first told her of his love. 

She sat in the old seat, and he, bending over her, gazed into her 
eyes, beautiful as when they first beamed upon him, for some trace 
of the great love that once glowed in them ; but his heart fell, for 
he saw there only resignation. 

‘ Petrel, I have longed to see you. At last we meet, and upon 
this interview depends the future of your life and mine. You are 
a wife, but I beg that you will not shrink from nie when I tell you 
that I love you more deeply, sincerely, and passionately than ever ; 
for I am not going to urge you madly and impetuously, as of old, 
but shall endeavour to appeal calmly, not alone to your love, but 
to your reason. The consciousness that I am pleading with you 
for the last time for my only hope of happiness, like a gambler 
playing his final stake, may well teach my tongue eloquence.’ 

Her pale face became paler still, but she answered never a word. 

‘ Do you know,’ he continued, ‘ that my uncle in England is dead, 
and that I have succeeded to his title and property ?’ 

‘Yes; you will go and enjoy it,’ came in low tones from the bent 
head. 


372 


PAVING THE WAY 


‘That depends upon you/ he answered. ‘Through my own 
infernal pride I gave you up for rank and riches, and when, with- 
out you, I have ceased to value them, both have come to me. 
Who am I that I should have visited not the sins but the unmerited 
misfortunes of the noble father upon the innocent child ? I am 
stained with crime as he never was, and but for you, his daughter, 
might have ignominiously given up my life on the scaffold, or be 
now languishing in a prison. To you I owe my life twice over, 
my honour, liberty, and years of hospitable care. Did ever man 
owe woman so much and do so little in return ? My God, what 
indeed have I attempted in repayment of such a weight of obliga- 
tion ! Nothing — ay, worse than nothing ! You, angel that you 
are, may forgive me, but I can never forgive myself.’ 

In uncontrollable agitation he leaned his head on his folded arms 
upon the rock. She rose and whispered — 

‘ O Roland, dear Roland, forget it all ; there is nothing to forgive. 
It is all past and done with.’ 

He would have clasped her to his heart, but as he raised himself 
she sank into her seat. For a moment he hesitated, then forced 
himself to be calm. 

‘ No,’ he said, ‘the account between us is still unsettled ; I owe 
you everything. Add to this that I am a lonely and unhappy man, 
who, unless you listen to me, will go forth a wanderer on the face 
of the earth, hoping the end may soon come. You are the loveless 
and unloving wife of an unfaithful husband. Why should your 
life, why should mine, be blighted ? Leave him, sue for a divorce, 
and it shall be so arranged that he will not oppose it. More than 
that, no trouble or publicity that the skill and care of the ablest 
of men can spare you shall fall upon you. The day that you are 
free I will make you my honoured wife and set you high among the 
matrons of England, of whom none can be more pure and worthy. 
You are childless and kinless, and, except for one intolerable bond, 
without a tie. Break this bond and come to me — my darling, come I’ 

There was a world of appeal and entreaty in the concluding 
words. For a second she swayed, as if she were about to fall into 
his arms ; then she murmured — 

‘ It must not be. Oh, Roland, tempt me no more. In the by- 
gone days you tempted me beyond my strength, and, if I had not 
taken upon me those sacred marriage-vows, alas ! what should I 
have become ! I cannot forget that to my husband I at least owe 
it that he saved me then.’ 

‘ Saved you from a life of love for a loveless wedded existence ! ’ 
he exclaimed with a laugh ; and words cannot express the concen- 
trated bitterness of his tones. ‘ So to the saviour you owe more 
than to the tempter ! 

‘ Oh, speak not thus, Roland, my Roland 1 What I owe to you is 
more than mortal can know. I would not surrender the sweet con- 
sciousness of having been loved by you for all that earth can bestow/ 

‘ And yet you can bear to let me go ! ’ 


NEMESIS 


373 


‘And yet I can bear to let you go/ she repeated in low and 
mournful tones, ‘ because it is right, and my duty is here by the side 
of the man to whom I have sworn to be true till death us do part.’ 

‘ And who thinks so lightly of those vows that he is willing to 
set you free.* 

‘ He cannot set me free. When I stood before God’s altar, I 
took the most solemn oath, that can be abrogated only by death. 
Nor does marriage mean a mere passive acquiescence in things 
as they are ; my husband has a right to my care and service.’ 

‘ Petrel,’ impetuously interrupted Grantley, ‘ you know this is but 
a vain wasting of your happiness ; you know that he will sink 
lower and lower until he drops into a drunkard’s grave.’ 

‘ With my help, perhaps not — without it, yes ; hence the greater 
would be my sin in leaving him. His soul is committed to my 
keeping. Roland, dear friend, cannot you understand that my 
duty is here where you first found me ? My past life and training 
have not fitted me to be your mate among the proud ladies of 
England. Maybe I could not be happy in so exalted a station, 
and then you would soon weary of me. You are too noble to show 
it, but, if I only fancied it, it would kill me. Leave me where God 
has placed me. Go, take the position that is yours, marry the 
woman who awaits your coming, and forget that Petrel Cleeve ever 
crossed your path.’ 

Weeping silently, she bowed her head upon her hands. Deeply 
moved, Roland sank beside her saying — 

‘When I forget you, I shall be dead or mad. No precept or 
principle, however sacred, weighs one feather’s weight against my 
love for you. Will nothing move you ? I might plead — I do plead — 
my long-enduring love, my deep repentance. Obdurate woman, 
have you placed yourself on so high a pedestal of purity that you 
have no pity left, since I appeal in vain to your love ? ’ 

She shrank and shivered at the harsh and cruel words. 

‘ Oh, you are cruel, Roland ! Dear Roland, do not speak to me 
so hardly ! ’ 

In a tumult of passion and remorse he snatched her to him and 
strained her to his breast, covering her face with kisses. For a 
while she lay, as if she had found her fitting resting-place. At 
length she said — 

‘ Let me go home,’ and he knew that he had failed, though with 
the tenacity of his nature he would not admit it. 

‘Not yet will I accept your final answer. Remember that, 
without you to share them, title and estate will never be claimed 
by me. My benefactress in the past, can you wreck my future ? ’ 

There was a long pause before the reply came — 

‘ I desire to make your future bright and happy, not to wreck it. 
Without me your course is clear ; with me it is beset with difficulties.’ 

‘ Listen, Petrel. I hoped that what I am going to tell you need 
not have been spoken, but I will leave no chance untried to win 
you. The man to whom you are bound offers to release you on 


374 


PAVING THE WAY 


the sole condition that a provision is made sufficient for his wants. 
He is indeed base enough to take a price for the rights he has 
already forfeited by his own acts. On that condition he agrees 
not to defend an action for divorce, and will set you free.’ 

Her glorious eyes flashed. 

‘ Roland Grantley, are you so lost to all sense of honour as to 
dream of bargaining thus for the woman you profess to esteem 
and love ? Away, and leave me !’ 

‘The ignominy is not mine, but his,’ he cried. ‘To gain you I 
am willing to surrender half of my fortune, or more if it be neces- 
sary, to the man I have most cause to hate of all men on earth. 
Leave such a reptile, who dishonours you by his touch, and come to 
the man who will respect your virtues, revere your character, and 
lavish such a love upon you as shall make your life a dream of bliss.’ 

They had been walking back as he poured forth these last pro- 
testations and entreaties, and he felt that his time was short. 

‘Will you come?’ he continued, with his soul in his eyes. ‘ O 
my darling, the whole future is bright before us and a life of joy 
and peace awaits us. You are mine, are you not ? — mine at last ! ’ 

‘Roland, you deceive yourself. It can never be. For God’s 
sake, tempt me no more. I am a wife, and should be sacred to 
you. Say farewell here.’ 

He staggered at the fixed resolve that was manifest in her words, 
and his head sank despairingly upon his breast. She kissed his 
brow, and, when he raised his head, he was alone — alone hence- 
forth for ever. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

THE DEATH OF THE STAR 

The sun has sunk to rest behind the clear outline of the Mount 
MacPherson Range. It is a summer evening, calm as the close of 
day so often is on the banks of the great river that waters so vast 
an area of Central Australia. F rom the hollow limbs of the mighty 
trees that fringe its banks and rear their stately heads from its 
rich flooded bends, begin to sound the almost human cries of the 
owls, intermingled with the discordant screams of the numerous 
other night-birds which keep up the weird nocturnal chorus. 

Paying small regard to these voices of the night, a strange group 
walk slowly along near the course of the great stream, a short dis- 
tance from Moolahalla station. 

In the midst strides with the same proud step the grand old 
horse that has figured so prominently in these pages, the star on 
his forehead glistening white in the gloaming. Beside him, with 
one hand resting affectionately on his neck, is his master, on whose 
stern face a deeper and more hopeless grief than ever is indelibly 


1 




Death of the Star 





THE DEATH OF THE STAR 


375 


graven. There is evidence, too, that a bitter conflict is going on 
at present in those worn features and sunken eyes, from which 
every trace of joy appears to have finally fled. 

It is a wondering group of aborigines who surround him. Old 
men and young, women, children, and girls are there — come to see 
they know not exactly what, but something which is to precede 
the departure for ever of the master they had learned to love as 
much as the dependant and slave can ever love his lord. Both 
horse and owner are possessed of attributes that have long since 
extorted the admiration of the simple savage people, even as heroic 
qualities never fail to receive the adulation of the more civilised. 
The men pace on with sombre looks and murmur to themselves, 
as if in protest against a deed which they begin dimly to under- 
stand is contemplated, but can scarcely believe possible. The 
women, as the master’s purpose dawns upon them, are more 
demonstrative, and, between their scolding of their children and 
screams to each other, an occasional wail breaks forth for the 
‘ balara yarraman ’ (good horse). There is one remarkable girlish 
figure walking just behind Grantley, near the Star. It is Miola, 
audibly weeping. She has early fathomed his design, and knows 
well why the master has told them to accompany him ; knows too, 
that the friend and protector of her race will, before another sun 
rises, have turned his back upon them never to return. What 
marvel that she wept ? He had never been other than kind to 
her — nay, more than that, even gentle and considerate, treating her 
rather as a friend than a servant, and recognisingherintelligence and 
faithful services as they deserved. He had already told them that 
the station was sold and that a stranger would take his place. To a 
few any change had at least the charm of novelty, but the majority 
felt unfeigned sorrow at the loss of the great white master. 

For himself, though absorbed in the wreck of the hopes he had 
built up until they grew in his mind to a certainty, still, now that 
the time had come to part from his dependants, he could not but 
realise that there was yet left in him a capacity for feeling. 

Slowly wending onwards, they came to a grove of trees, box, 
gum, and acacia, growing thick and luxuriant. Lying among them 
was much dried timber. Here they halted, and Grantley spoke 
in low, tremulous tones, telling them why he had brought them 
there. ‘He was going far away, never to see them more, and 
strangers would occupy his place in all things. His cattle, sheep, 
and horses were all theirs, save one only — the Star. He was now 
growing old, and his master could not bear to think that, when he 
had gone, the fine old horse might be ridden too hard and perhaps 
abused, or, worse still, that when worn out and helpless he would 
be left at last to die a lingering death of torture, a prey to ants, 
flies, and other vile insects, in the back-country. To guard 
against this, he was now going to shoot him and make a big fire 
to burn his body.’ 

A silence, almost a stupor, fell upon the listeners. Then an old 


376 


PAVING THE WAY 


man spoke in wondering surprise and strong condemnation, and 
others after him took up the strain and pleaded for the Star, as if 
he were one of their own kin. 

Calmly Grantley stood, his hand caressing the proud head bent 
to his touch, but there was no yielding in the stern, set face. 
Presently he raised his arm with the old gesture of command, and 
in a few brief words signified that what he had determined upon 
must be done. Too long accustomed to submit to his imperative 
manner to demur now, they sank into silent acquiescence. He 
took a revolver from his belt. 

‘ Farewell, best and truest dumb friend that ever man had,* he 
whispered, as he bent down to kiss the gleaming star ; and the next 
moment a report rang out in the stillness of the night, and the Star 
sank dead at his master’s feet with a bullet in the centre of his 
forehead. 

The impressionable witnesses of the deed burst into a loud 
lament, and thus was the requiem of the good horse sung. Then 
the wood was piled about him and the fire applied, and in a few 
hours all that remained of one of the noblest steeds that even 
Australia has produced were a few charred bones. 

****** 

Many years have passed away, yet Grantley Hall still stands 
empty, and bride, title, and estate still wait to be claimed by the 
heir : but nought is known of Roland Grantley. A vague rumour 
floated across the seas that he had been seen leading a fierce band 
of Red Indians of the Far West of America in their last desperate 
struggle against their white oppressors ; but, if so, his body was 
not found among the heaps of slain. 

At a later time it was confidently asserted that he bore a part, 
under an assumed name, with Garibaldi’s ‘Redshirts’ in their 
glorious fight for Italian independence, and poured out his life- 
blood on one of the famous battle-fields towards the close of the 
strife ; but of proof there was none. 

His aunt, though weary with waiting, will believe none of these 
tales, and says that she will not die until the heir of the Grantleys 
takes his place in his ancestral halls. As for his cousin, she still 
hopes on, though youth is passing away and her dream of love 
and happiness with it. 


THE END 


Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, 
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— Minneapolis Tribune. 

“ Mr. Biddle’s facile hand is fully shown in this biographical romance of 
adventure in foreign lands and of the mysteries of crime and intrigue. The 
mere titles of the chapters are thrilling, and suggestive of the excitement 
which the narrative fully sustains. Mr. Biddle has written nothing more 
aJ)Sorbing.” — Philadelphia Public Ledger, 

“Told with a graphic power, sufficient to absorb the fastidious admirers of 
Conan l3oyle, Stanley Weyman, and Gilbert Parker.” — Philadelphia North 
American. 

“ Fascinating in its intensity and unexpectedness.” — Boston Times. 

“ Hypnotism plays an important part in this romance. . . The movement 
is partly in and around Philadelphia, the remainder in the Madeira Isles, and 
a very pretty background has been skillfully furnished, which, together with 
the scenic coloring, is truly delightful. Mr. Biddle is ever to the point and 
sustains throughout the reader’s unflagging interest.”— iV'eto York, Times. 

“A large circle of readers may be confidently predicted.” — Boston Globe. 

FROM THE BRITISH PRESS. 

“ Under the form of a correspondence, Mr. Biddle has given us an exciting 
and interesting love story, the scene of which is laid among the higher circles 
of New York society. The sequence of events by which Mr. Lefferts Hall 
eventually married Miss Emily Tracy is full of excitement and interest, and 
we should hardly be right in disclosing the plot or its denouement. Our 
readers had better find it out for themselves, and they will agree with us that 
the story is thoroughly well worth reading.” — London Bookseller. 

“Of the detective order— a murder and a mystery.”— ion-tfoH Literamj 
World. 

“ Should not fail to hold the interest of any reader fond of a story that is 
both short and sensational.” — Edinburgh Scotsman. 

“Highly thrilling.” — London Saturday Review, 

“There are many elements of sensational romance.”- iondon Athe-* 
neeum. 

“ Both interesting and exciting.” — Dundee Advertiser. 


Drexel Biddle, JPhiladelphia 


iii 


The following books are published in London by 6 A Y & BIRD, at it Bedford 
Street, Strand. 

“ Booksellers will find the following, good books to carry in stock, They have 
already sold largely, and promise to maintain their popularity,"— Cana- 
dian Bookseller. 

THE FLOWERS OF LIFE, 

By a. J. D. B. 

“ Convey, in brief form and simple language, some of the deei)est lessons 
of life. The thought, style, and sentiment are of rare beauty ; and it is impos- 
sible not to be impressed with their philosophy. The allegories in particular 
are sure to rank very high in literature, and their brevity and simplicity make 
it almost impossible to avoid being impressed with the lesson which they are 
intended to teach.” — Pittsburg Times, 

For sale, tastefully and strongly bound in blue, white, yellow and gold cloth, 
gilt-top, extra heavy paper, 12mo., pp. 88, for 90 cents, by all booksellers. 

“ Mr. Biddle strikes a lead when he turns to the children. The success of 
his first, 

THE EEOGGY FAIRY BOOK, 

(Now in its Third Thousand) 

shows that as a writer for small people he is entitled to consideration. This is 
a rare and rich accomplishment. He has just published a beautiful book of 
fairy tales, 

THE SECOIS^D FROGGY FAIRY BOOK 

and it will certainly bring joy to thousands of children. The books are ex- 
quisitely printed and bound.”— TAe Buffalo Express, 

“ Anthony J. Drexel Biddle’s ' Froggy Fairy Books ’ promise to become as 
necessary to the childish mind as the far-famed ‘Alice in Wonderland’ 
books.” — Los Angeles Times. 

“Elsie Lee is as American as ‘Alice in Wonderland’ is English. It is a 
pretty and healthy story, which is certain to delight all good children.”— 2%e 
Scotsman, Edinburgh. 

“ . . . Remarkably clever, and the long-haired young lady who has 
wandered into Frogland is charmingly contrasted with frogs, who figure as 
portly elderly gentlemen, or are got up like respectable family butlers.”— 2’Ae 
London Times. 

“A funny book for children, which has obtained a great vogue.”— Part 
Mall Gazette. 


NEW EDITIONS FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 


THE FROGGY FAIRY BOOK. With nine beautiful full-page illustra- 
tions by J. R. Skeen. 8vo., cloth. Price, 50 cents; de luxe edition, $1.25. 

THE SECOND FROGGY FAIRY BOOK. Superbly illustrated with 
peri and color full-y^ge and inter-text drawings by well-known artists, printed 
on heavy satin-fiiiish^ paper, and bound in blue silk cloth stamped in gold, 
mlver, and red. A gift-book appropriate for all presentation occasions. Price, 


Drexel Biddle, Bhiladelphia 


iv 








